To Shape an Arc
by Anthologion
Summary: By all rights, Jaune's dream of becoming a Huntsman should have died when he was expelled from Beacon. It won't, though, not if Qrow has anything to say about it. Their redemption lies beyond the walls of the Four Kingdoms, in lands where Grimm roam unchecked and unchallenged. Welcome to the old ways of Hunting. Welcome to the Wilds.
1. Endings

Wednesday night was study night for team JNPR.

Ren sat on the ground cross-legged, back leaned against the foot of his bed, surrounded by a neat semicircle of books and notes. Nora had noticed this, of course, and had taken the natural course of action in commandeering Ren's bed. She lay on her stomach with her feet in the air and scowled at her copy of _Introductory Dust Theory: Volume 2_ with determined concentration.

Jaune was sprawled out on the floor in the middle of a mess of papers and books, alternating between staring at _An Illustrated Guide to Grimm Anatomy_ and staring at Pyrrha out of the corner of his eye. She was busily writing a paper about how Grimm invasions influenced public policy, or something equally boring.

It was amazing, really, how she made even that look appealing. Her long red ponytail swayed ever so slightly as her pen scratched smoothly across the page, and her circlet glimmered in the light of the desk-lamp.

He sighed mentally, forcing his attention back to an analysis of Deathstalker exoskeletons. He had to work, not think about Pyrrha. He had to work so he didn't _fail_ , so he didn't have to go home and explain to his father how an Arc couldn't even complete one year of hunter training. The thought alone made him shiver.

Nora shut her book and crawled to the end of the bed. "Ren?" she said. "I'm hungry."

Ren looked up from his note in the margins of "Basic Field Medicine" and reached up to flick her nose. "Not now, Nora. Give me half an hour?" he said gently.

Nora pouted, clearly put out by the idea of trying to study while she was hungry. Fortunately for her, Beacon was generous to its students. It was only 8:00, and even if the kitchens were closed there were always granola bars, fruit, cookies, and other foods out for students who studied late. It was a bit of a walk, though, and Jaune didn't blame Ren for wanting to finish his work first.

Nora sighed dramatically, flopped backwards onto the mattress and opened her mouth to complain, "-

"I'll go with you!" said Pyrrha. She lifted her arms above her head and stretched. "I need a break anyway." She looked across the room at Nora and smiled. "Dining hall, right?"

To Jaune's surprise, Nora shot up with a grin. She normally waited for Ren in such cases, but the lure of instant gratification apparently beat whatever weird, unclassifiable relationship she shared with him, at least tonight.

"Ren, Jaune, do you want us to bring you anything?" asked Pyrrha, as Nora skipped out of the door.

"An apple would be nice," said Ren.

"Jaune?" said Pyrrha as she stood and turned to follow Nora.

Jaune beat back the warm glow that bloomed his chest when she said his name.

"Uh…no," he said, feigning nonchalance as best he could. "I'm good."

As soon as Pyrrha stepped lightly out of the room to chase Nora, Jaune slumped over and rubbed his eyes. He had to do a better job of concentrating around her. His future at Beacon was far too uncertain as it was, and if he kept spending study time mooning over his partner he would definitely be going home for good. Right now, though...maybe he could get a few minutes of good work in while she was off with Nora. Then he could sleep. Dust, how he needed sleep.

"...You could just tell her, you know. It might make things easier."

Jaune turned, startled. Ren looked back at him with a slight smile.

"What?" Jaune said. Surely Ren didn't mean...

Ren rolled his eyes. "Pyrrha. You should tell her how you feel. Just get it off your chest."

Jaune's heart dropped, cheeks flushed. He thought he had completely hidden his crush on their teammate. She was so far out of his league…it was just better that way.

If Ren knew, who else might know? Ruby probably didn't, although even if she did he trusted her to keep his secrets. He doubted that Nora paid enough attention to notice, but Blake saw everything. She would keep it to herself though, right? She was quiet like that. On the other hand, Weiss might realize it. What if she decided to get revenge for all of his failed attempts to woo her? No. The heiress would probably think that was beneath her. That left...

Yang, he thought with a wince. Yang would play with him like a mouse on a string. She would make his life hell with insinuations and puns that meant more than they seemed to mean. If she knew, he could pack it in - it was amazing the entire school didn't know already.

But what if SHE knew? The idea made his stomach churn. If she knew, and hadn't said anything…what if those late-night training sessions on the roof, or her whispered commentary on the fights in combat class, her kind words and ready encouragement had all been given out of _pity_? What if she thought of him simply as a bumbling, inept tagalong that harbored a naive crush, more a burden than a partner? He fought down a growing wave of nervousness and looked up to find that Ren had moved to sit next to him, his forehead creased with concern.

"Jaune, are you ok? Actually, no. Something's bothering you. What's up? I didn't think it was that big of a deal."

Jaune took a shaky breath. "Who else?" he croaked.

Ren looked confused. "Who else knows that you have a crush on Pyrrha? Everyone. I mean, all of RWBY and JNPR at least. Sun. Neptune. Maybe a few others. It's not that hard to see."

Jaune tried to swallow the knot in his throat, but it stayed stubbornly put. He stared silently at the ground. This was so much worse than he had thought. Everyone knew? It _was_ pity, then, from Pyrrha and from everyone. That explained why Yang hadn't teased him mercilessly - she knew he didn't have a chance and she didn't want to rub it in. RWBY knew, his teammates knew, AND she knew.

Of course he wasn't good enough for Pyrrha to like him; he had never been good enough. He was a fool to think he could be a Huntsman, even a bad one. The school year ended in three more weeks, and then he would go home. Maybe he could be a blacksmith or something, if anyone would trust him around a forge. Three weeks. He could live with their sympathetic glances for that long.

Ren leaned forward to place his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Don't let that worry you," he advised. "If it helps, everyone thinks you should ask her out. Yang is even taking bets on how long it will be before you two are a couple."

Ren sat back crosswise and put his hands on his knees.

"Come on," he encouraged. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Jaune put his head in his hands. He didn't want to think about it, but he always felt better after his talks with Ren. The boy was wiser than his age would suggest, and he had a calm poise that made even the largest problems seem manageable.

"It's Pyrrha. I like her. A lot." He shook his head. "But she's... _Pyrrha_ , you know?"

Ren's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "As in Pyrrha Nikos, the world-famous prodigy?"

Jaune groaned. "No, that came out wrong. It's not that she's famous or talented. I mean, she is, but that's not what I'm worried about. She's Pyrrha, Ren. She's my partner, my friend. My best friend, along with you, and Dust knows she's my best girl friend. I mean, not best girlfriend like we're dating or anything, or like I'm some jerk with multiple girlfriends, or...oh, forget it." He flopped backwards on the floor and stared at the ceiling. "You know what I mean."

Ren nodded. He knew.

"Then why don't you ask her out? You already know that you work together," he said.

Jaune scoffed. "What, and get embarrassed like every other time in my life?! Only _this_ time, I have to see her every day afterwards because she's my partner. I know I'm not the coolest guy in the world, but even _I_ couldn't deal with that kind of awkwardness."

"You don't think Pyrrha likes you?" Ren asked.

Jaune flipped on his side, facing away from him. "Don't be dumb, Ren."

He wished that he could just crawl into bed and forget this whole thing. Maybe he _was_ in bed, and everyone didn't really know that he liked Pyrrha. Maybe...wait, was Ren laughing? He sat up. Ren was wearing a huge grin, shoulders shaking as he chuckled. Jaune frowned. He didn't see what was funny about this. "Ren, what?" Ren tried to stifle his amusement, but this caused him to start coughing. He waved his hands instead and held a finger in the air.

Jaune waited.

"Dude," Ren said when he regained control of his lungs, "Pyrrha totally likes you."

Jaune froze. She _liked_ him? No way...but he trusted Ren completely. If Ren said Pyrrha liked him, then Jaune would believe him. He moved to stand up, a hope long ignored burning again in his mind.

As he stood, his hand brushed his textbook. _Grades,_ his mind whispered, and he collapsed back to the floor.

"It doesn't matter," he moaned. "I don't have time to ask her out anyway. I have to do well on these exams or I won't be coming back to Beacon next semester."

Ren stood briskly. "We can do that. Let's see. You've got Weiss helping you with Dust Theory, right? I know Pyrrha helps you with Goodwitch's combat class, and you've got History of Remnant down cold. That leaves..."

"Grimm Anatomy," Jaune sighed. "I've got most of it, but the bit on consensus joints in Deathstalker exoskeletons and the chapter on King Taijitu scale variants are killing me, and Port as good as told us he would ask about them on the exam."

"Ok," Ren said. "Tell you what. I do need to study those a bit more, but I've pretty much got them down. How about I help you?"

Jaune's eyes lit up. He hated asking for help, but if Ren was offering...he was one of the best in Grimm Anatomy. "Really?! Ren, you're a lifesaver."

"Don't thank me yet," warned Ren. "I'll help you, but I've got one condition. If - no - _when_ you find out you're coming back, you have to tell Pyrrha how you feel."

Jaune narrowed his eyes. "Traitor," he accused. Ren simply looked at him. Jaune thought quickly. Honestly, it didn't matter. He probably wouldn't be back anyway, so why not? He would take all the help he could get. "Deal."

Ren smiled. "Excellent! Now, about those Deathstalkers..."

The door to Professor Goodwitch's office gave a satisfying _click_ as it shut behind him. Jaune stopped and breathed a sigh of relief. He was coming back to Beacon after all. The last few weeks had been a flurry of studying and training, a constant struggle to perform through the haze of dread that he would fail, that he would have to go back and see the disappointment in his father's eyes when he learned that an Arc was too stupid and clumsy to be a Hunter.

He gave his head a small shake and walked down the hall in the general direction of JNPR's dorm. All that was over now. He had just received his end-of-term grades and he was coming back, so there was no reason to worry anymore. Jaune pulled his transcript out of his pocket and studied it again.

His best class had been The History of Remnant. No surprise there - he had trouble remembering dates, but the rest of the class came naturally to him, particularly the portions on the early Human-Faunus wars and the Anti-Grimm campaigns of the Middle Era. Beacon was a combat academy, so the history department tended to focus on wars more than peace. Jaune didn't mind this at all; he had an almost instinctual knack for strategy that made it easy for him to understand and critique the tactical decisions of past wars.

Conversely, Dust Theory had been his worst class. He barely scraped by with a D-, and that was with Weiss tutoring all of RWBY and JNPR on Thursday nights. It was probably the practical exercises that hurt him the most, he mused. There was no way that almost giving your professor frostbite by spilling ice dust on her hand could help her see your performance in a charitable light. _Or maybe_ , he thought, _it was the theory_. There were so many numbers and equations and structures it made his head spin. How could Weiss keep them all straight? _Oh well_. He gave up the whole thing as a bad job and looked back at the sheet of paper. Grimm Studies had turned out all right, though, with a solid B. He had even pulled a C- in combat class, thanks to an almost unbelievably good performance on his final. He still didn't know how he blocked that last hit. It must have been his training with Pyrrha paying off.

 _Pyrrha_. The thought of her set off an all-too-familiar churning of emotion in his gut.

Jaune frowned as he stuffed the paper back in his pocket. He should be happy right now, not nervous. He knew beyond a doubt that he liked her, and Ren had assured him that she liked him as well. Now that he knew he would return to Beacon next semester, he could begin to imagine a future with Pyrrha in it. He swallowed hard. It was a thought he had not allowed himself to think in case he failed out of the academy. He had even started spending less time with her in a stupid attempt to protect him from the pain that would result if he had to leave. But now...well, now he would have to find out how she felt, wouldn't he? He didn't have any other choice. Ren had forced him to promise that he would ask Pyrrha out if he was allowed to return.

Why did he make that stupid promise? Maybe without it he could just let the whole thing blow over. It wouldn't be the first crush he had hidden until it died. But no, he had to go and promise Ren that he would talk with Pyrrha, and now he would be forced to embarrass himself and probably get rejected again. This time, though, it would be infinitely worse because he was her partner. They would have to see each other every day until graduation, day after awkward day. He groaned.

Jaune turned down the hall that held JNPR's room. He hesitated when the familiar door came into view, and almost turned to walk in the other direction. It's not that he didn't want to know how Pyrrha felt, but...if only there was a way to read minds. What if Ren was wrong? He knew Ren would never lie to him, but even the wisest people made mistakes. Jaune steeled himself, walked to the door, and opened it.

Ren's eyes flicked up from his desk, where Stormflower sat in neat pieces. He immediately dropped his tools and shot upright. "Well?" he demanded.

Jaune raised his eyebrows. He rarely saw Ren this agitated. In fact, the only time he could remember his friend this disturbed was when Nora had gone missing after a chocolate binge at the Vale Carnival. He could have fun with this.

"Well what?" Jaune asked, feigning ignorance.

Ren laughed. "Well, that's good then." He crossed the room and clapped Jaune on the shoulder. "I told you it would work out."

Jaune pouted. "Really, Ren? How did you know?" he whined.

"You would be completely bummed if you weren't coming back," he pointed out, "and you're not."

Sometimes he wondered if he would ever be able to hide things from Ren. He doubted it.

"You know what that means, right?" asked Ren.

"Yeah, I know," Jaune moaned. "How could I forget?"

"Don't be a baby. I'm telling you, she totally likes you."

At this, Jaune looked wildly around the room, only to find it conspicuously and gloriously empty.

"Where are the girls?" he asked with a sigh of relief. Ren hadn't thrown him under the bus. Yet.

"Nora is talking with her parents about getting home for break," Ren said. "I was hoping you would know where Pyrrha is."

Jaune's forehead furrowed in thought. "Oh!" he said. "She's in a meeting with the Pumpkin Pete's guys. Something about extending her endorsement."

"Ah," said Ren, satisfied. "Well, Nora wanted to go to the firing range in a bit, so I've got to leave now if I want to get there first."

Jaune shuddered at the thought of an unsupervised Nora. "Please," he said feelingly.

Ren punched him lightly. "We'd better be celebrating more than the end of the year when I get back," he warned, and returned to his desk to reassemble his weapons.

After Ren left, Jaune collapsed on his bed. Pyrrha would be back soon. What would he say? His usual over-the-top show of confidence wouldn't work. After all, it was just that: a show. Pyrrha was too important for that, anyway.

"Hi Pyrrha," he mimicked sarcastically. "How was your day? Guess what?! I didn't fail out! By the way, how do you feel about dating a guy who can barely make it through freshman Hunter training?"

He made a noise of disgust and sat back up, dangling his legs over the side of his bed. One heel bounced absently against the bed-frame, which began to crack and squeak in protest.

An electronic chime interrupted his thoughts. He glanced towards his nightstand at his scroll, its notification light flashing rhythmically. A spark of nervous energy shot through him. That could be Pyrrha, or it could be someone else. He wasn't sure which was worse.

After a moment of consideration, he leaned over and picked it up. A quick skim of the preview message made him sit back in confusion. Ozpin? The message was short:

Mr. Arc,

Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience.

Professor Ozpin

Headmaster, Beacon Academy

What? Was there a mistake in his grades? Why would Ozpin want _him_?

He got up, pocketing his scroll. There was only one way to find out. He could always talk to Pyrrha after he got back.

The elevator doors slid smoothly open. Jaune stepped out hesitantly, glancing around the room as quickly and surreptitiously as he could.

Professor Ozpin was sitting behind his desk with his hands folded in front of him and an impassive look on his face.

"Mr. Arc," he said.

Jaune looked around for a chair. Finding none, he stood in front of Ozpin's desk, feeling small and out of place under the silent ticking of the massive clockworks.

"It has come to our attention," Ozpin began, "that the terms of your acceptance to Beacon Academy were not altogether in order."

Jaune's eyes grew wide as the meaning of Ozpin's words flooded through him. This was it. They had found out about his transcripts.

He was about to be expelled.

He swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how dry his mouth had become.

"In light of this, I regret to inform you that you will not be allowed to return to this school in the fall. You have until tomorrow at noon to collect your things, at which point you may no longer remain on Beacon property." Ozpin paused and looked sharply at Jaune over his glasses. "Do you have any questions, Mr. Arc?"

"N-No, sir," he squeaked out.

' _That was it, then?'_ he thought. He had always imagined that being caught would be more formal, that it would take more time. Apparently it only took one email and thirty seconds.

Ozpin nodded. "Good day, then, Mr. Arc."

Clearly dismissed, Jaune turned and walked quickly to the elevator, fighting the burning in his eyes. As soon as the doors slid shut, his control broke and he fell back against them, staring vacantly at the back of the elevator.

His dream was over. No Hunter school in the world would take him, not with an expulsion from their sister academy on his record. And in the end, he had no one to blame but himself. He should never have paid that forger. He would rather his application have been rejected from Beacon in the first place than have to feel like this. And Pyrrha.

Oh _Dust_ , Pyrrha. His heart contracted painfully, and tears began to trail down his cheeks. He had been about to...it didn't matter now. He hoped - he prayed - that Ren was wrong, that she didn't like him after all. A phrase sprang unbidden into his mind. "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." Jaune would have scoffed, but it wasn't even remotely funny. How ridiculous. Whoever said that obviously hadn't been on the losing side of love.

The doors slid open, and he toppled out of the elevator before picking himself up and running towards the dorm. Pyrrha wouldn't be back yet - the room should be empty. There was enough time for him to get his things and find a hotel for the night. He could talk to his team tomorrow - he couldn't do it now.

Caught up in his thoughts, he didn't see the figure in front of him until it was too late. Jaune crashed into him and glanced sideways into the wall. This earned him a growled, "Watch it, kid!" from the man, but Jaune was past hearing. He stumbled onwards, blind to the world.

Ozpin swirled the dregs of coffee in his cup and stared at them moodily.

If there was one thing on which he prided himself, it was his judgment. His memories contained the stored experience of lifetimes, and while that had its share of drawbacks, it made for _excellent_ decision-making.

It was obvious from the beginning that the Arc boy's transcripts had been modified. There was simply no way that a student with grades so stellar would have references so forgettable. It took only a phone call to determine that the boy had never attended the combat school listed on his paperwork.

Still, he had seen the potential for Jaune to be a good Hunter, even a great one. The boy had drive, a purity of intent that so many lacked. Even more, he had the skill. Few could enter first year training lacking the preparatory experience given by the combat schools and keep up. It was incredible, really.

He drained the last of his drink and grimaced. It had gone cold.

He growled in disgust, tightening his grip on the mug, then gave up and threw it across the room. Ignoring the sound of shattering porcelain, he spun his chair around and looked out the window.

A deep, gravely voice interrupted his thoughts. "Whoa there, Ozpin. What was that about?"

Ozpin sighed. There was only one person who would enter without knocking, and he knew that voice better than almost any other.

It continued, "I almost get chewed up by a bullhead turbine on the flight over here, and then I come up and find you taking out your personal issues on bits of pottery. What'd it do to you, anyway?"

"The problem, Qrow, is that people are interfering with my school," Ozpin bit out, "and I do not appreciate it."

The distinctive thud of boot heels on wood sounded over the ever-present ticking of clock gears. Ozpin winced, knowing that Qrow had just put up his feet on _his_ desk. A sip of coffee provided the necessary fortitude to ignore it.

"And who decided to do _that_?" The huntsman's tone made it quite clear what he thought of the idea.

"Winchester."

"Ass," Qrow observed, taking a swig from his hip flask.

Ozpin spun his chair around, making no attempt to hide the smile that flitted over his face. Qrow was as unorthodox as they came, and while that was a liability in some respects, it could also be remarkably cathartic.

"Quite," he agreed. He ran his hand over the glass of his desktop, letting the friction tug gently at his fingertips.

 _Tick. Tock. Tick._

"You are familiar with the Arc boy, I imagine?"

"He's a friend of the girls. Seems fine, if a bit forgettable."

 _Good_ , he thought, pleased with his foresight. Qrow never _had_ been one to let formalities like privacy law get in the way of his protective streak. Or perhaps Taiyang had asked him to check up on whom his daughters chose to associate with.

 _Tick. Tock._

No matter.

"He got on the wrong side of young Winchester-"

"And daddy couldn't let that go, could he?" interrupted Qrow, again pulling the silver flask from his belt.

"Apparently not," said Ozpin tersely. "As I said, he got on the wrong side of the Winchester boy, who managed to find out that Mr. Arc had arranged to have his preparatory school transcripts...altered. We knew this already, but I had offered him admission regardless in light of his significant potential. Unfortunately, Winchester told his father, who saw no reason that Mr. Arc's education should be allowed to continue."

Whiskey sloshed as Qrow grunted his understanding into the mouth of the flask.

The older Winchester, much to Ozpin's displeasure, occupied a position on Beacon's board of directors. While he had attempted in the past to remove students he found distasteful - faunus students, by and large - Vale's extensive anti-discrimination laws had blocked his efforts. The Arc boy, regrettably, wasn't protected by such legislation, and the effort it would take to fight the Board on his expulsion simply wasn't worth the political capital it would take to counter it.

"So what you're saying is that you wouldn't have kicked him out."

"Decidedly not. But enough of my troubles. What news of your search?"

Qrow leaned forward on Ozpin's desk and scrubbed at the smear left by the sole of his shoe.

 _Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick._

After a moment, he spoke. "I couldn't find the Queen. That lead in Vacuo ran dry. If she was ever there, she's gone now."

Ozpin grimaced. Today was a day for bad news, it seemed.

"And what do you intend to do now?"

Qrow stared at the desk for a minute longer, then looked up. "Cast a wide net. Roam the Wilds, see what I can find. Signal has me on sabbatical this year, so I can go where I like. I've heard rumors of shipments…"

Qrow continued, laying out the clues he had gleaned in his travels and explaining his plans for the immediate future. Ozpin listened with complete attention.

At least, at first.

The rhythmic _tock_ of clockwork in the background of his office was growing louder. It was subtle at first, enough that Ozpin brushed it off as a flight of his imagination, but as it began to drown out Qrow's explanations it grew past the point of dismissal.

 _TOCK_

"…around the Atlesian…"

 _TOCK_

 _"…._ dust, although I'm not..."

 _TOCK_

 _TOCK_

 _TOCK_

It grew until the very air trembled under the force of the time-march, and it seemed as though the great clockworks themselves must burst asunder.

It grew, and in the space _between_ They came, whispering.

It was the old voices, stirring from the deep recesses of his mind, hinting at the ragged threads of possibility. They moved, murmuring and shifting restlessly for his attention. They knew something, and would not rest until They told it - something that could be, perhaps, or that had been once and might yet be again.

In front of him, Qrow still talked, unaware of how reality twisted around him like a heat-wave.

The shine in Ozpin's brown eyes dulled as his mental energies focused inwards, leaving his body to manage business with Qrow while he sank into the depths of his mind. Bits of memories and scraps of forgotten wisdom flitted around him as he descended, hints at ends and means that were neither decided nor even fully imagined.

He reached out thought-fingers to probe the time-smoke around him, ever cautious. This part of his mind was not quite… _his_. It would be closer to the truth to say it was _Theirs_ : a space shared by him and those who came before. It was part and parcel with his lot, the cost exacted from the privilege of his position.

His predecessors were dead, of course, and in most cases forgotten, but that did not mean that They were _gone_. They left behind…fragments. Shadows of lives and tattered remnants of thought snatched from the jaws of oblivion and preserved for those who followed. Preserved for him.

Truncated scenes flashed before his eyes, almost too quickly to follow. Structures old and alien in form, dark plumes of smoke, pages from scrolls that crumbled to dust as he watched, and the constant whisper of urgent words streaming beneath.

The signs were there, just like they had been in centuries past. The constant tension that existed between light and the darkness drew to a head, and it would not be resolved without a fight. A skirmish, if they were lucky, a brief and desperate sally by the advance guard to beat the dark back into its lair.

If they were not lucky, then it would be war - the kind of war that shook the world only once in a millennium.

In either case, they would need soldiers.

"You want to travel alone, I assume?" Back in his office, the words flowed from Ozpin's mouth not entirely of his own volition.

Qrow furrowed his brow, confusion evident. "I always work alone. Why?"

"Take the boy with you."

"Arc? Ozpin, that's not-"

"Just for the time being." Ozpin's brown eyes shone brightly over the thin lenses of his glasses once more. Why the old ones wanted this was not entirely clear to him, but he had never been led astray by their guidance. "I will attempt to work something out for Mr. Arc; one of the other academies, perhaps. However, for the moment, he would benefit much from your instruction."

Unsaid was the fact that Qrow himself would benefit from Jaune's presence. Too little company made the man retreat into his bitterness. It would be a mutually beneficial partnership.

"I don't like it," Qrow scowled. "He's a kid. He's got no business in the wilds."

"It's for the best," insisted Ozpin gently. "Trust me, Qrow."

"…This is one of _those_ things, isn't it?" The black-haired man realized with a dark growl. " _They_ told you."

"Yes."

Qrow grimaced.

"…Fine.

"Wonderful!" he smiled. "You will have to ask Mr. Arc, of course, but I believe he will accept. Give him some time to collect himself - I will send him a message to let him know he can trust you."

Qrow grunted his understanding as he took another drink from his hip flask. Replacing it under his cloak, he stalked over to the windows to glower out over the school.


	2. Beginnings

Jaune threw open the JNPR door and stumbled through it in a haze. He looked around long enough to be sure that his teammates weren't back, then threw himself onto his bed. Curling up near the wall, he stopped fighting and gave himself over to his grief. Deep, choking sobs racked his body as his vision blurred through the tears in his eyes _. What had he done?_

Being a Hunter was all he had ever wanted. His favorite memories were of sitting wide-eyed at his grandfather's knee listening to stories about the exploits of Arcs past, and of leaving after to dart through the forest with his trusty stick and beat back imaginary Grimm with the help of his ancestors.

What would Grandfather think of him? For that matter, what would _any_ of his ancestors think of him? His cheeks reddened in shame as he writhed at the thought of the old man's disappointment, no less real to Jaune than if the patriarch had been in the room with him. He had always encouraged Jaune to follow his dream and become a Hunter, right up to the last minute Jaune saw him. The week after that he had died on vacation, trying to protect a group of villagers in one of the far-out settlements from a pack of Beowolves.

Jaune gave a wordless cry of grief and balled his sheet in his fists. He had promised his grandfather at his funeral that he would follow in his footsteps, that he would make him proud. Where was he now? Curled up on a bed with his nose running and eyes red from weeping, a cheater and a liar, a pathetic failure from start to finish. He noticed that the blanket under his cheek was wet from his tears, but he didn't care enough to move his head. Why should he? In the next hour he would never be here again. Ozpin had given him one day to leave, but he needed to be alone and cry tonight. There were hotels in Vale that would work.

He realized with a start that in the next hour, his team would be back. They couldn't see him like this. _She_ couldn't see him like this.

Jaune lay on his side until he could find the motivation to move. Eventually, he sat up, rubbed his face, and looked around.

He didn't need to worry about packing; the school would take care of that, just like they did when he arrived. He would need money for the hotel, but that wouldn't be a problem; he was an Arc. The family account was as deep as it was old, and it was _very_ old. Being a family of heroes had its advantages, after all.

 _But I'm not a hero_ , he thought bitterly. _I don't deserve that privilege._ Pushing aside his guilty conscience, Jaune decided that he would use the money long enough to get home. Once he was there he could worry about making his own account.

The question was, what _would_ he take? Crocea Mors, of course, and his shield. His armor. A change of clothes. ...There really wasn't anything else he needed. _Although..._

Jaune rose and walked to his desk, sniffing softly as his nose continued to run. Bending down, he opened the top drawer, reached to the back, and pulled out a small stone. He held it in his hand and stared at it.

Early in the semester, Ren had taken him to one of Beacon's side gardens to teach him meditation in the hope that it would help his anxiety. When he gave it up as the semester wore on and his workload increased, Ren had taken this stone from the garden and given it to him, quipping, "You can't come to the garden, so I'm bringing it to you." After a moment of consideration, Jaune shoved it in his pocket. He would keep it to remind him of Ren - quiet, solid, helpful, with a wry humor that you often missed unless you knew him.

As he turned back to his bed, his foot connected with something light, sending it skittering across the floor with a series of hollow _donks_. He looked down and smiled weakly. It was one of Nora's spent grenade canisters, the vibrant pink band on its side now blackened by burnt dust. On impulse, Jaune walked over and picked it up. He had something for Ren, so why not take a memento for Nora as well?

He stopped and looked at the room. If he was taking memories, then he needed a memory of Pyrrha. What to take, though? There was nothing in his desk of hers. He had been too petrified that his crush might come to light to keep many trinkets of their times together, and he absolutely refused to take anything that belonged to her - getting kicked off of her team was bad enough without adding stealing to the mix.

His roaming eyes lit on the container of pens on her desk. Those would do. They were a gift from Pumpkin Pete's, a show of gratitude for her endorsement. They were ornate things, lacquered in red with gold scrollwork. Pyrrha hated them - she said they were "too much" - so she put them out for the team to use. Ren and Nora had several at their desks, but Jaune had always been hesitant to take one.

Pen in hand, Jaune walked wearily back to his bed. He pulled out his backpack and shoved the rock and grenade canister in the bottom of it, followed by clothes and his armor. The pen went into his pocket. He was attempting to wedge his breastplate into the top of the pack when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

His head shot up as the armor fell from his hands and hit the door with a dull thunk. He stared at the door with wide eyes and a pounding heart. None of JNPR would knock; they would just come straight in. That meant it was someone from RWBY. Jaune started to panic. He had obviously been crying, and in his scattered state he had forgotten to lock the door. If he didn't answer, they would come in anyway.

Another knock. Jaune took a deep breath. He could do this. They wouldn't push him if he said he didn't want to talk about it. He could do that much. Just one sentence. "It's open," he called, hoping he sounded calmer than he felt.

* * *

Qrow's heels clicked softly against the stone floor of Beacon as he moved briskly down the corridor. He had passed by the dining hall after his visit to Ozpin, figuring that the kid could use some time to pull himself together before he talked about his future. It helped that the dining hall offered free food to Beacon graduates back from the field, of course, and Qrow had always had a soft spot for a good cookie.

He stopped and consulted his scroll. If the directions Ozpin gave him were correct - and they always were - the Arc boy's room was down the hall to his right. He slipped the scroll into his pocket and made his way towards JNPR's quarters. One door, two, three...there. He raised his hand to the worn wood of the door and knocked twice.

There was a gasp and a _thud_ , then silence. Qrow grimaced. Surely the kid wasn't so clumsy as to fall over when startled. He was supposed to be a Hunter, not one of the fainting goats bred by farmers in Mistral as circus pieces. More probably, he dropped something, which, while bad, was forgivable. Arc had been through a rough day.

He raised his hand and knocked again. There was another pause, then an "It's open" said by a voice both thick and unnaturally high; the voice of someone who had been crying and was now trying to pretend it hadn't happened.

Qrow opened the door to find Jaune standing by his bed and a piece of plate armor lying on the floor. He noted the latter with amusement. Apparently the kid _had_ dropped something. The pack was unexpected - Arc was wasting no time leaving. _Although_ , Qrow considered, _I probably wouldn't either_.

Looking at the boy, Qrow saw bags under his wide, bloodshot eyes. _Crying. Sleep-deprived. Scared._ He made the list quickly, with an ease and dispassion born of long practice. He would have to be careful. Jaune needed, for his own sake, to come with him and not run home to safety.

"Hey, kid," Qrow said gently. "I want to talk to you for a minute." He held up his hand quickly, "I just want to talk. You don't have to say anything."

Jaune looked warily at Qrow, thinking, and then nodded jerkily. It couldn't hurt, and he didn't have to talk and risk breaking down again.

Qrow grabbed Jaune's chair from his desk and sat in it backwards, dangling his arms over the top of the backrest. Taking a deep breath, he began. "So, Ozpin tells me that you've been kicked out of Beacon." He winced, missing the look of hurt and shame on Jaune's face. "Yeah, that was a bad way to start." He got up and stuck out his hand. "Name's Qrow. I'm Ruby and Yang's uncle." Jaune's eyes widened in recognition, and he took the Hunter's hand warily. Qrow quickly sat down, glad to be done with formalities.

"Okay, kid," he tried again. "The way I see it, you can do one of two things. You can run home to mommy and daddy, let them get you a job as a farmer or something. Then you marry some girl, drink a lot, and try to forget about all of this. That's option one."

He paused. "Option two is...more complicated," he said carefully. "I don't know how good you are with history, but in the old days, the Hunter Academies didn't exist." Jaune nodded. He knew that. "In those days, kids like you went out into the Wilds with older hunters to learn and train. If they survived, they took their Hunter Qualifiers."

"Now," Qrow said, leaning the chair forward conspiratorially. "Once the Academies were founded, the apprenticeships started to die out. The last one was almost eighty years ago - most people alive today weren't born yet, and the ones that were alive were too young to care. Ordinary people forgot that the old system existed. The people who were in charge of training Huntsmen and designing the programs were, and are, fine with that."

"Why?" interrupted Jaune, wary but curious.

Qrow sat back and waved his arm dismissively. "Ways of thinking changed. The Academies are safer, for one. They also figured that if you train Huntsmen and Huntresses in groups then they fight better in groups, see? And that's true enough, but the problem is" - he leaned forward again with a gleam in his eyes- "you end up with a bunch of Hunters who can't fight a paper bag on their own, much less a Grimm."

Jaune shuddered inwardly at that gleam, then nodded again. He saw where Qrow was going with this. "So you're saying that I need to find an apprenticeship?"

Qrow laughed. "Close, kid, close. Remember when I said that there aren't any apprenticeships anymore? You couldn't find one if you tried." He suddenly stopped smiling and looked at Jaune sternly. "No, what I'm saying is that I'm _offering_ you one. With me."

Jaune was stunned. He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he saw Qrow's raised finger.

"I don't want your answer right now." He looked at his watch. "It's 3:00. There is a Bullhead at the Beacon landing pads that will be leaving in 30 minutes. I'm going to be on it, and if you're coming, so will you. Pack your gear, say goodbye to your team, and be there." He turned to walk out the door. As he left, he looked back over his shoulder. "That is, if you still want to be a Huntsman."

Jaune shot to his feet the instant the door clicked shut. He couldn't believe it; he was going to be a Hunter after all! It was like he had been accepted to Beacon again, but this time there would be no Cardin, no tests, and no classes.

He sighed. There would be no Cardin, but there would be no RWBY, either. No Ren, no Nora, no _her_. No late-night pancake and pajama extravaganzas. No bad puns from Yang, or hugs from Nora, or awkward camaraderie with Neptune. Jaune shook his head quickly. He was leaving either way, he reminded himself, but at least with Qrow there was a chance that one day he could look his friends in the eyes without shame.

His bag was packed. He needed camping gear, but Qrow would probably have it. Beacon supplied its students with things of that nature, so Jaune had none of his own. He should leave a note, he thought, since he wouldn't be able to contact his team. If he was going to the Wilds, his scroll would be useless most of the time. Jaune knew vaguely that some Hunters carried special scrolls that could send and receive messages through military channels, but he had a civilian model. Outside of the Kingdoms it was just a chunk of glass and metal.

If he was going to write a note, though, he would have to do it quickly. There was a transport that ran from Beacon to Vale to get down to the dockyards, but he couldn't afford to cut it close. Grabbing a sheet of paper from his desk, he sat down and wrote out a message, then balled it up and tossed it in the trash. He took another sheet and started again. Finally, he sat back. It wasn't as good as what he wanted or as what they deserved, but it would have to do. He placed it on his bed near his pillow. They would find it.

Jaune grabbed his pack and looked at his scroll. It was 3:20. He had to go _now._ Turning, he ran out of the room, out of the dorm, and down the walk in front of the school. There were several airships on the landing pads, but only one Bullhead. Breathing heavily, he walked up to it and stuck his head through the hatch. Qrow was slouched in one of the jump seats, sleeping. His arms were folded across his chest, his gangly knees sticking out from his body as he breathed slowly and rhythmically. Jaune hesitated. _Should I wake him up?_ he wondered. Probably. He didn't want Qrow to think he was late. "Qrow?" he called softly.

The man's eyes opened immediately, sharp and clear. "Sorry," apologized Jaune. "I didn't know whether to wake you up, but I wasn't sure..." he trailed off uncertainly.

Qrow grinned and shook his head. "Don't worry about it," he said gruffly. He _had_ been asleep, but the kid didn't need to know that. What was important was that he had come. He really shouldn't have worried - Ozpin had vouched for Arc, and the man had an uncannily accurate feel for people.

"I'm going to go talk to the pilot," said Qrow. He stood and disappeared though the small door leading to the cockpit.

Jaune collapsed into a battered jump seat, torn between relief and sadness. It was mostly relief, he decided. While he would miss his friends, he knew that he would see them again, and when he did he wouldn't have to be ashamed. He would be a Hunter, just like his father and grandfather.

He thought again of the stories his grandfather would tell him about Arcs past, this time with hope in his heart: tales of his own father and grandfather, of course, and of his grandfather's grandfather Aureus, who had forged the legends of Crocea Mors in the fires of the Great War. He remembered older heroes as well, stories from the deep past known only to the Arc family and to the scholars who studied them: Braun Arc, who was said to have torn the head from a Boarbatusk with a great heave of his steel-trap arms; Braun's father Silber, who abandoned the Arcs' traditional, knightly path in favor of a more silent and subtle technique, who was able to kill a Grimm before it knew he was there. He remembered Caocuo and his twin swords that bloodied the sands of the western Deserts with the black blood of the Grimm. He remembered the twins Atrior and Albior, the first heroes of the family, who left their hunting to lead a band of warriors from the Arc's ancestral home to fight in the Lost War, never to be seen again.

Jaune saw them all, just as he had when he was a child. With a firm nod, he sat straighter in the seat and secured the safety webbing across his chest. He would make them _all_ proud.

The Bullhead shuddered and began to move, the ground outside dropping away quickly as the bay doors closed with a hiss. Qrow emerged from the cockpit. The determination apparent in the boy's posture made the corners of his mouth turn up in a small smile; he had been worried that he would have to play therapist for Jaune in light of the less-than-ideal conditions of his departure. Jaune would need some of that, of course, but he appeared fine for the moment. _It's a good thing, too,_ thought Qrow. _I don't need him falling apart on me, especially not out there._ Plastic cracked and protested as he slouched down in his jump seat. They had a few hours before they reached their destination, and he would take all the rest he could get. He knew from experience that sleep was a rare commodity in the Wilds.

* * *

The sharp click of Pyrrha's boots echoed down the stone halls of Beacon. She was tired, but glad. Negotiations regarding the terms of her new endorsement contract on behalf of Pumpkin Pete's, Inc. had taken longer than she had expected. Still, it wasn't all bad; her bonus had been raised in exchange for her support for the company's new line of pumpkin-flavored energy bars. The bars weren't exactly the healthiest food on the market, but they were infinitely better than the sugary flakes the company called "part of a balanced breakfast".

They had wanted her to do a kingdom-wide promotional tour over the summer, taking part in sponsored fights to increase the visibility of the brand, but she had politely declined. The annual tournament would keep her busy enough, and there were things she wanted to do this summer besides fighting.

Most importantly, her parents had agreed to let Jaune spend a few weeks at her home in Mistral. Maybe there, away from the stress of classes and the watchful eyes of teammates, she and Jaune could work out...whatever it was between them. She _knew_ that he was over Weiss - he hadn't so much as mentioned her in months - but did he like _her?_

There had been times when she would have said that he did. He had been studiously ignoring her, and not out of anger. He would stumble over his words when she was near, and she had seen him gazing at her on more than one occasion before looking away quickly with a red face. She _thought_ he liked her, but she didn't _know_. That was why she needed to spend time with him this summer.

She had put off asking him until the final days of school. Jaune should be in the room when she got back, though. She would ask him then. A knot of nervous energy formed in her stomach at the thought. _Don't be ridiculous, Pyrrha_ , she chided herself. _You're not asking him on a date. This is simply a hunter asking her partner to visit over the break. It's not anything out of the ordinary._

Pyrrha sighed and shook her head ruefully. Lying to herself had never been her strong suit; this was far more than a just an invitation to visit, and she knew it. She _really_ wanted to date Jaune. He was just so... _different_. Not like the others that leered at her across fancy tables, just as interested (or nearly so) in her as a bragging right or an endorsement opportunity as they were in her as a person.

The problem, unfortunately, came from the fact that Jaune was, bar none, her best friend. More than that, he was her partner. If this went badly (and she was painfully aware that it might), it would be catastrophic. On top of the loss of her most treasured relationship, there would be no healing distance for a temporary reteat - they lived together, ate together, had class together...they even shared a bathroom. Beacon was not particularly lenient in allowing its students to switch partners; Hunters had to resolve personal matters in the field, and it expected the same of its students. It was entirely possible that a bad rejection could turn her wonderful team into an awkward, dysfunctional shadow of its former self.

A group of students watched at her as she turned onto JNPR's hall, and she tried unsuccessfully to ignore their curious stares. It didn't really matter - in a moment she would be in her room, where her team valued her for her own sake and not because of her reputation, and where her friends wouldn't stare at her.

Although it wouldn't bother her _too_ much if Jaune stared.

Pyrrha opened the door eagerly, only to find that the room was empty. More than a little disappointed, she crossed the floor and leaned Akuo against the wall by her desk. Springs creaked as she crawled into her bed. Milo lay by her side, its familiar presence comforting. Wiggling around, she pulled out her scroll and slid it open. No messages from Jaune, although there was one from Ozpin. Apparently he wanted to talk to JNPR tomorrow. Her eyebrows pinched together thoughtfully - she would normally guess that it was a mission, but it was too close to the end of the semester for that. Many students were already gone for the summer. Dismissing the thought, she snapped her scroll shut. They would find out tomorrow.

Where was Jaune? He was always here this late in the afternoon. Pyrhha looked longingly at his bed. The sheets were rumpled, which was unusual - they all tried to keep the dorm neat, and even though that meant Ren and Pyrrha would have to clean up after their respective partners on occasion, Jaune had been doing a lot better recently. She gave an amused sigh and got up. Making his bed would give her something to do, and the fact that it smelled like him certainly didn't hurt.

As she reached for his pillows, she noticed a folded piece of paper sticking haphazardly out of a fold in his sheets. Pyrrha pulled it out and glanced at it -

 _To Pyrrha, Ren, and Nora,_ it read. She raised her eyebrows. A note. Maybe he went to the city for something? She opened the note and smoothed the crinkled page.

 _Dear team,_

 _I don't know how to say this. Honestly, I don't think that there_ _is_ _a good way to say this, but here goes. Somehow, they found out about my transcripts. Ozpin kicked me out of Beacon this afternoon._

Pyrrha stared at the sheet in disbelief. Jaune was... _expelled_? But...he couldn't be. How could he become a Hunter if he was expelled? She was vaguely aware that her hands were shaking, her breath coming in quick gasps. The paper fell to the floor as she stumbled back, reaching out for Milo. It was the only stable thing she knew, the only source of comfort now that... _Jaune was gone_. He was gone, and no amount of training, no fame, nothing she could do would bring him back. Even Milo couldn't help her. She gave a great cry of grief and hurled the spear across the room, then collapsed against the foot of her bed, weeping.

Team RWBY was relaxing when they heard the scream from across the hall. Yang paused her video game and turned, worry in her eyes. "Hey, did that sound like..."

"...Pyrrha?" Weiss finished hesitantly, putting her scroll aside.

Ruby put down her controller and shot to her feet, bouncing up and down uncertainly. "Do you guys think we should go? I mean, I don't want to interrupt anything if it's a team thing but that sounded like it was bad and if something..."

"Blake?" Yang interrupted, looking at her partner warily. "Are you ok?"

Blake was staring at the door in horror, her book lying forgotten in her lap. She _knew_ that scream. Grief, sorrow, loss, helplessness...she had heard it many times during her years with the White Fang, at protests where grieving mothers wailed their agony at the skies, where fathers mourned children murdered by the Faunus-haters or railroaded for crimes they did not commit.

"Something is _very_ wrong," Blake said softly.

With a flash of petals, Ruby was gone. The others ran out after her, crossing the hall to JNPR's room. They could see the haft of Pyrrha's spear through the open door, the head lodged firmly in a painting on the near wall. Peeking cautiously around the doorway, they saw Ruby hovering anxiously over Pyrrha. The champion was sitting on the floor by her bed with her head on her arms, crying softly.

Blake instantly walked over to the girl and slid down next to her, placing a comforting hand on her back. Yang followed and sat in front of Pyrrha, pulling Ruby down as well, while Weiss stood back and watched her friends gravely.

"What's wrong, Pyrrha?" Blake asked gently.

"It's J-Jaune," she sobbed.

The team exchanged grim looks. They had known for months that the partners liked each other. If Jaune had rejected Pyrrha out of some kind of insecurity, there would be hell to pay.

"What about Jaune?" growled Yang. "Did he -" Blake turned her head and glared at her partner, who quickly shut her mouth.

"What happened?" Blake said, looking back at the girl next to her.

Pyrrha's tears came faster. "He...he left a l-letter..." she said, pointing to the note on the ground.

Weiss stalked over by Jaune's bed and picked up the note from the rug. Seeing the address, she hesitated. "Can I...?" she asked, gesturing at the paper.

Pyrrha took a shuddering breath and nodded.

" _Dear team_ ," Weiss read.

" _I don't know how to say this. Honestly, I don't think that there is a good way to say this, but here goes. Somehow, they found out about my transcripts. Ozpin..._ " she trailed off, then finished in a whisper " _...kicked me out of Beacon this afternoon._ "

Ruby flinched as if she had been struck and let out a small whimper. Mechanically, Yang reached out and drew her sibling close, looking at Weiss in shock. Weiss swallowed hard and continued in a choked voice.

" _In a way, I'm almost relieved that it's over. I don't have to hide the fact that I don't deserve to be here, and I'm not going to bring you guys down anymore. You all deserve so much more than a note, but I have to leave now. Don't worry about me. Qrow is taking me with him -"_

"What?" Yang exclaimed, wide-eyed. Blake shushed her and motioned at Weiss to keep reading.

The heiress looked pointedly at Yang, then started again.

" _Qrow is taking me with him as an apprentice. I'm still going to be a Huntsman! He said I would be back in a few years to take the Hunter Qualifiers. I'll really miss you guys and RWBY, but maybe this way I can still become something. All I can say is - I'm sorry._

 _Love,_

 _Jaune_

Weiss raised her head. "That's all."

Ruby clung tightly to Yang, her silver eyes wide with fear. Yang smoothed her sister's hair, trying to calm her down even though she was nearing panic herself. They had been though this before with the death of their mother. Jaune wasn't dead, but he was gone. Yang wasn't worried about herself; she would survive, she always had. She was worried about Ruby. Her sister hadn't really lost someone before- she was too young when Summer died.

Blake was upset, although she didn't show it. Someone had to be strong for the team, and she had the most experience with loss. Speaking of the team...

The cat faunus frowned. "Where are Nora and Ren?" she asked. "Do they know?"

Pyrrha shook her head. "I don't know," she said, sniffing. "I don't think so."

Blake nodded, storing that away for later. _Jaune should have said goodbye before he left_ , she thought angrily. _That would make it easier for them_. Wait. Jaune had a scroll - he _could_ say goodbye. Continuing to rub Pyrrha's back with one hand, she pulled out her scroll and called Jaune's number, willing him to pick up. After an eternity of ringing his voicemail picked up the call, his cheerful voice at odds with the sadness heavy in the room. She growled and shook her head at Yang, who was looking at her questioningly.

Her partner nodded and pulled out her own scroll. Ruby looked up. "What are you doing?" she mumbled.

"Calling Qrow," Yang answered shortly. She held the device to her ear in time to hear, "Thank you for using Vale CCT Services. The number you are trying to call has been disconnected or is out of service." Yang froze, realizing the implications of this, and what it would mean for the team.

"Yang?" asked Weiss. "What happened?"

Yang desperately wanted to lie, but they deserved the truth. They would find out eventually, anyway. "His number's disconnected..." she said slowly.

Ruby sat up, her eyes wide.

"Uncle Qrow...he only disconnects his phone when he's in the Wilds." Yang explained. "If Jaune is with him..."

"Jaune is in the Wilds?" questioned Weiss flatly. Any area not controlled by humanity, outside the walls built to keep evil at bay, was called the Wilds. It was Grimm territory. If that clumsy, unskilled, irritatingly likable _dork_ was out there...she simply didn't see how he would survive.

Ruby spoke up timidly. "He's with Uncle Qrow, though." She gave a small, determined nod and looked up at Yang. "He'll be fine, guys."

Yang hesitated. She could see that Ruby was trying to convince herself as much as her team, but there was no way she was going to break her little sister's hope at a time like this. Anyway, they could all use some hope right now. "Yeah," she said, faking her normal, brash confidence. "Uncle Qrow is the best. He'll take care of Jaune."

Pyrrha sat straighter at this and sent Yang a small smile. A large part of her wanted to go and find Jaune. She knew his fighting abilities better than anyone, and she seriously doubted he could be in the wilds on his own for long. But, he wasn't alone. He had Qrow, and Qrow Branwen was nothing if not a great fighter. He had been a prodigy in his day, just like Ruby and her, graduating Beacon at a young age and winning several of Vale's regional tournaments. He could keep Jaune safe.

Blake and Weiss sent long looks at each other, then seemed to accept Yang's words. That was all they _could_ do, after all.

JNPR's door opened, and Nora waltzed in, smelling faintly of burnt dust and high explosive. She saw the group and squealed, "Hi guys! Ren and I went to the firing range and I got to try my new grenades and they were awesome! They might have blown up the range a little bit and the instructor got mad and kicked us out even though it obviously wasn't _my_ fault the walls weren't strong enough and..." she trailed off as Ren walked in, noticing the tear-stained faces of Pyrrha and Ruby, and the sad expressions on everyone else.

"Ren?" she asked fearfully, reaching behind her. Her partner came up behind her and took her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Ren's eyes darted over the group as fear grew in his heart. He knew that something bad had happened, even before he opened his mouth to speak.

"What's wrong?"

* * *

 **Notes:**

 **Hi, guys and gals! I think this chapter is the last of the exposition: the next chapter will have some action and training in it, I promise. In fact, I'm thinking about upping the rating to an M - things will be getting pretty gory and violent once Jaune starts encountering the Grimm.**

 **If anyone cares, the OC names in this chapter all follow Monty's color-naming rule: Aureus is Latin for gold or yellow-gold; Braun is German for brown; Silber is German for silver; Caocuo is adapted from the chemical formula for the pigment Egyptian Blue: CaOCuO(SiO2), also called calcium copper silicate. Atrior and Albior are Latin for (literally) "blacker" and "whiter", although "darker" and "lighter" are also correct and are the sense in which I intend them.**

 **I've gotten a few messages wondering if I'm going to continue writing. For the record, I will NEVER abandon a fic once I've started it. Buckle up, 'cause we're in this for the long haul. On the flip side, I am a university student, so I can't promise anything in the way of consistent updates once the semester starts back after holidays, although I will update as often as possible! If I haven't updated in a bit, just assume that no news is good news - the story will continue, I promise.**

 **Finally, my thanks to ThePhantomMoose, who has been invaluable as a sounding board and moral support.**

 **Much love to you all, and the may you have the merriest of Christmases.**

 **\- Anthologion**


	3. Ancient History

The steady thrum of the Bullhead's engines changed to a high whine as it began its descent, the long engines swiveling to push back against the approaching dirt. Qrow woke at the noise and opened his eyes with a grimace. He had never been able to sleep well on airships, but something was better than nothing.

Stretching, he looked around to see Jaune sitting bolt upright in his seat. The boy's face was pale and his eyes were screwed shut. _Motion sickness_ , Qrow realized. _I'll have to deal with that later_. Since their invention nearly a century before, airships had remained the primary method of transportation for Hunters. They would walk when they had to, but flying was often the fastest and easiest way to travel. Being prone to airsickness was unacceptable.

The lanky Huntsman stood, threading his hand through one of the leather handholds that dangled from the roof while he clipped his scythe to his lower back. A warm wind swept through the bay as the doors opened, the hiss of hydraulics almost lost in the roar of the Bullhead's turbines. Qrow squinted through it and waited until the aircraft dropped to the ground with a small bounce.

He stepped from the cargo bay down to the packed earth of the landing pad and looked around, nodding with satisfaction. Arc needed a clean break from Beacon in order to train effectively. Staying in Vale was out of the question - there were too many memories, too many attachments. The other Kingdoms, while different, were still too familiar. Jaune knew teams at Haven Academy in Mistral and Beacon students from Vacuo and Atlas. He didn't need those distractions; Qrow's training would be brutal enough without them.

The best thing to do was to get the kid as far away from his old life as possible, and that meant heading into the Wilds, to the frontier towns of Remnant. They were a far cry from the great cities of humankind. Sparsely populated, scattered, dangerous at best and short-lived at worst, they often attracted the lowest element of humanity. Such towns tended to vanish from existence, the anger and strife of the inhabitants acting as a beacon for the creatures of Grimm. For Qrow, the lawlessness of the towns had an added advantage; he needed information, and the people here tended to have it, if you could convince them to talk.

While such lawless settlements were the norm, some towns were of a different kind. The settlements were still small, and life in them was far more dangerous than life in the city, but the citizens were good people. They regulated themselves to keep out the darker side of the frontier, whether human or Grimm. They were explorers, adventurers, entrepreneurs - tough, hopeful souls who looked to take back Remnant from the shadow one city at a time. The towns were ideal spots to train a Huntsman; there were no distractions, plenty of work, close medical care, and an endless supply of Grimm prowling outside the gates.

Silver Falls was a town of the relatively peaceful variety, and it was here that Qrow had decided to train Jaune. The village was young, barely a year and a half old, but it had a promising future. It sat on a peninsula northwest of Vale, taking advantage of natural barriers to allow defense against the darkness. The mountains sloped down to the east to form a barrier that only the most determined Grimm would pass. The snow that fell on the peaks melted and ran down to form a river that ran to the north, while to the south the land bent inward and mixed with the western seas to form deep marshes.

He shook himself from his thoughts and turned to find Jaune. The boy was still in the Bullhead, his eyes still closed, his hands gripping the seat tightly. Qrow scowled and stepped back into the cargo bay. He shook Jaune's shoulder roughly. "Hey, kid. We're here."

Jaune waved his hand weakly. "Just give me a minute, ok?" he begged.

"Are you going to say that to the Grimm when you fly in for a mission?" Qrow mocked, grabbing the boy's arm and pulling him up. "Because I don't think they'll care."

Jaune moaned as he stumbled out of the airship. He felt terrible, but he was determined not to be sick in front of Qrow - or worse, _on_ him. That wasn't a situation he wanted to repeat. Somehow, he doubted that Qrow would limit his revenge to pointed jokes and bad nicknames like Yang had. The thought made him shudder.

He took a steadying breath and looked around, then promptly took a step back. The edge of the landing pad ran up against a massive concrete wall. Jaune craned his head to see the top. The walls that bordered the south side of Vale were larger, but still...these were _big_. He turned to Qrow. "Um...where are we?"

"Northwest of Vale." the man replied briefly, tightening the straps on his pack.

Jaune blinked. That wasn't what he meant, but he had a feeling Qrow knew that. He tried again.

"Ok...um...what do we do now?"

Qrow slung his bag over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. "Now we go inside, kid, unless you _really_ want to sleep outside in Grimm territory by yourself."

"Oh." Jaune felt stupid. "No, I don't want to do that."

The older man smirked. "No, you don't." He paused. "At least, not yet. Come on." He turned and walked along the wall, stopping a short distance away at a small gate. Jaune followed quickly, feeling decidedly uneasy about the 'not yet'. Qrow raised his fist and pounded on door. After a pause, a narrow slat in the gate shot open and then closed just as quickly.

The door swung inwards and a beaming man stepped out to grasp Qrow's hand. "An' here I thought we'd seen the last of ya!" he drawled.

Jaune looked at the man with wide eyes. He was short - the top of his head barely reached Jaune's shoulder - but he was stocky. His clothes were like nothing Jaune had ever seen. He wore a tan leather jacket, fringed along the arms and chest. Pants of the same color were tucked into boots that rose almost to his knees. What drew Jaune's attention the most, though, was the knife he carried at his side. It was _huge_. Two feet long if an inch, and easily wider than Crocea Mors, it reminded Jaune of an axe as much as a knife.

Qrow scoffed. "I told you I'd be back."

The man released Qrow's hand and stepped back. "You did, at that," he agreed, and looked behind Qrow to Jaune. "Who's the boy?"

"My student," Qrow answered. "Jaune, this is James Stirling. James, Jaune Arc."

James cast a longer, more appraising glance at Jaune, who shifted uncomfortably during the silent evaluation. "Well," he said at last. "I reckon y'all better come in before it gets any darker. I'll take you to the inn - it's moved since you've been gone, Qrow. "

They followed him through the wall and down a small street. It was very different from Vale, Jaune realized. The streets were cobblestone, not asphalt, and most of the houses seemed to be wooden. What streetlights there were burned with the flickering light of oil rather than with the constant shine of their electric cousins. Still, he decided, the place felt...comfortable. The road was clean, or as clean as roads can be, and the buildings looked sturdy and well maintained.

The street let out into a small square lined with shops and public benches. A large statue of a white snowflake stood in the center, tinted orange by the final light of the setting sun. Jaune realized with a start that it was the Schnee symbol. He saw it on Weiss' things all the time, but what was it doing here?

Qrow was apparently thinking similar thoughts, because he stopped dead and pointed at the giant emblem. "What is _that_?" he growled.

James looked amused. "You think them walls paid for themselves? Naw. The Schnee Company found dust deposits in the mountains a few months back. They gave us the money for the concrete; minin's the new business now." He waved his hand at the statue. "Some of the more artsy folk 'round here thought we should make something to show the Schnee Company our undyin' gratitude. It don't do any harm, and the square looks a sight better'n it did."

"I hate it," Qrow stated flatly.

James shrugged. "'To each his own'," he quoted. "The inn's on the other side of the square." He pointed beyond the offending glyph before turning. "I best be getting back to the gate, just so's I can let any more wandering troublemakers in."

Qrow nodded, still glowering at the statue. James shook his head and clapped Qrow on the back. He stuck his hand out to Jaune and crushed the boy's hand in a firm shake. "Nice meetin' you," he said.

"Y-You too!" Jaune squeaked in pain.

James gave him a curious look and then wandered back up the street, whistling cheerfully.

Jaune turned to find Qrow, ruefully massaging his hand, only to find that the huntsman was already halfway across the square. His eyes widened and he forced himself to jog after his mentor. It wasn't even his first day yet; he wasn't going to fall behind.

In reality, the small bumblings of his new apprentice were the last things on Qrow's mind as he stormed across the square and into the inn. A small part of his brain knew that he shouldn't be this angry over a statue, but the rest of him disagreed. That _thing_ didn't belong here because it was a piece of _her_ , and _she_ didn't belong here.

Qrow ordered a room from the innkeeper, and although he tried to be pleasant his thoughts were far afield and he never had much patience with niceties on his best days. Taking the key, he strode down the hall with Jaune following warily in his wake. He threw his gear into a corner and collapsed on one of the beds, staring moodily at the wooden ceiling.

Many people thought that Qrow Branwen was nothing more than a bitter, sarcastic alcoholic who happened to be a good Huntsman. They were only partly right. He was undoubtedly bitter and sarcastic - even he would admit that, and sometimes with a certain amount of pride- but he wasn't an alcoholic, and he wasn't a good Huntsman.

Good Huntsman were the foundation of Remnant. They worked well with their teams, killed Grimm, trained citizens, and often saved lives. They were honorable men and women, upstanding citizens who were heroes in their own rights. The people loved them, and for good reason.

Qrow was of a different breed. He killed Grimm and all the rest of it, of course, but he regarded himself as far too broken to be a hero. Heroes saved people, and as far as Qrow was concerned he couldn't even save his own teammates, much less others. Amber's condition was enough to prove that. More importantly, he worked alone, and that took a kind of discipline that had become all too rare in the ranks of the Hunters. The creatures of Grimm were attracted to negative emotions such as sadness, anger, or pain. Friends and allies could work to counteract these, or at the very least shroud the negative emotions from the Grimm with positive feelings of their own. It was this realization had lead to the development of the modern, team-based Hunter system.

Qrow had no such protections. When he was in the field he had to either smother any wayward emotions before they could form or risk a messy death, regardless of whether he was on a routine extermination or a mission from Ozpin in which the very fate of Remnant hung in the balance. The safest way by far was simply not to feel anything. The lines dividing one emotion from another were vague, after all. Who was to say exactly when a neutral emotion like boredom turned to irritation?

And so, over long years of practice and necessity, he had became a master of self-control. However, he was still human, and no man can contain his emotions forever. His feelings would return every time he reentered society, sometimes slowly, but most often in a deep, crushing wave. He still felt keenly the gutting of team STRQ - there were precious few nights in which he _didn't_ wake up drenched in sweat from those nightmares - but there were other pains as well. He was often prey to feelings of horror and sickness over the atrocities he had seen committed by the Grimm, to feelings of regret over the lives he had failed to save, and sometimes, although he would never admit it to anyone but himself, to far more complicated feelings about a certain Schnee heiress.

* * *

He could remember vividly the first day he met Winter. It had been five years ago that Ozpin had sent Qrow to Atlas, ostensibly to supplement the military Specialists in a series of Grimm exterminations, but really to find out if the newly promoted General James Ironwood could be useful to their cause.

Qrow had never particularly enjoyed working with the Specialists, but he also never complained about it. Raven was gone, Summer was dead, and Taiyang was a shell of the man he once was; hunting was all he had left, and any contract was better than drowning in alcohol and memories.

He managed to get a ride to Atlas on an old troop transport being flown there for demolition (or "retirement", as the Atlesian military insisted on calling it). The only stipulation was that they left in the dead of night to stay on schedule. The pilots refused to let him sit in the cockpit because of "military regulations" or some nonsense like that, so he had to ride in the transport section. He sat alone for an eternity in the massive, empty hold, staring at the rows of empty jump seats and trying not to think about how his team should be in them. It was far too long before they arrived in Atlas, landing during those bitterly cold hours when the sun has only half-risen.

The transport gate dropped, and he stepped out to find Winter waiting for him. She gave no indication of how long she had been waiting. If the cold bothered her at all, she certainly didn't show it. Her white and blue military-issue overcoat was pristine, her back ramrod straight, her boots shined, her posture perfect. She greeted him coolly, and for the first time in his life Qrow felt insecure about his clothes. His own beloved coat had seen him through many missions, and it showed.

His hand rose automatically to smooth his hair back. He shook himself out of his self-doubt and followed her into the base, realizing with a bit of a shock and a good deal of appreciation that Winter was _attractive_. Qrow was neither a sap who fell in love at first site, nor a man who was shy with regard to the fairer sex; in fact, he had always had a reputation as a flirt, but he hadn't pursued anyone seriously since the destruction of STRQ. He flirted constantly, of course, but that more from a desire to feel something besides grief than from any actual interest. It had been a long time since anyone had made such a definite first impression on him.

The days passed swiftly, and Qrow completed his primary mission by the end of the week. He found Ironwood to be fair-minded and intelligent, and, while the general tended to prefer military solutions more than either he or Ozpin liked, the man had a strong sense of duty to the people of Remnant. He would be a strong ally to have.

The exterminations, on the other hand, dragged on for months. They were supposed to end as quickly as all extermination jobs did, lasting a week at most, but the dismal weather complicated matters. The frequent snowfall made tracking difficult, and sometimes prevented them from going into the field altogether.

After two weeks clearing Boarbatusk dens in the forests east of the city, the small band of Hunters went north to a remote fishing village. It was one of the few towns that could survive outside of Atlas city walls, surrounded on three sides by the ice floes of the northern oceans in such a way that only one side of the town had to be defended. Even though the defenses were admirable for a frontier settlement, there was an Ursa in the area that had killed several of the townsfolk when they left the village to work. Ironwood had sent the Hunters to dispatch it.

They arrived to find that their prey had been inactive for the past week. The villagers told them that there was no pattern or particular spot the beast favored, and tracking was impossible due to the snow that fell almost daily. The only thing to do was to wait until it struck again.

After several fruitless attempts to track the beast in spite of the conditions, they settled down to wait. The Ursa seemed to be as unimpressed with the weather as they were, for it vanished from the face of the earth. The snow continued to fall, and by the end of the week the white blanket covering the ground was so deep that the Bullhead sent to extract them was unable to land.

With no way to fly out and the snow lying too deep to walk through, the Hunters were forced to remain in the village until the town became accessible to the outside world. For two months they stayed in a cramped hut on the outskirts of town. They ate the same fish and dense bread that the villagers ate, slept in the same furs, and huddled close to the same smoky fires at night to listen to the old folk tell their old tales.

At least, Qrow did. For the first time since STRQ's death, he was in his element. _This_ is what being a Huntsman was about. He was, for a time, a part of this community. The town was rough, to be sure, but so was Qrow. He learned the names of the townsfolk, swapped stories with them over cups of the harsh local whiskey, and helped train the kids. He flirted shamelessly with the old women, who laughed and played along with him good-naturedly. He sat with the fishermen and mined them for information while they taught him to repair nets, marveling at how fast they were able to tie the knots he struggled to complete. He _lived_.

His companions from the Atlas Military Special Operatives Unit were less taken with the town. They were too disciplined to grumble at the food or the conditions, but they stayed aloof from the townsfolk. At first they rejected the offers of furs and blankets, saying that it was inappropriate for a soldier to accept gifts for doing his or her duty, but they grudgingly gave in as the temperatures dropped. They would all huddle together in their hut around the central fire pit, talking softly and occasionally muttering something about "fraternization" whenever Qrow left on a visit - all of them, that is, except for Winter.

The Shnee heiress was as distant as the other Specialists at first, but she soon began to change. It began on a late night when Qrow was on watch, scanning the treeline beyond the village for the glint of a red eye. Winter, bored and unable to rest, came out to join him. They talked for hours, until his shift ended and the demands of sleep were too great to continue.

The next night it was Winter who was tasked with the watch and Qrow who left the warmth of his furs to sit with her, and once again they talked until they were replaced. He learned about her ambitions as a Huntress, about how some of her peers mistrusted her because of her money and her father's reputation, and about her worry for her younger sister. She learned about the loss of his team and how his sense of certainty and purpose died with them, about his pride for his nieces, about his determination to be there for them in a way that their mothers were not. They talked about family, politics, hopes, work, and everything else in the world.

He found in her an equal. She had an intuitive sense for Hunting, a tongue as sharp as his own, and a wit just as quick and often quicker. The shell of sophistication she wore suited her, and while he loved it for what it was he also loved to tease her so that it would crack. Underneath there was dry humor, cutting sarcasm, a heart that was slow to let anyone in but quick to defend those she loved, and a fierce anger that he was careful to avoid provoking.

They had their differences, of course, which often lead to passionate debates under the broken moon. She was proud to serve in the Atlas military, while he detested the practice of Hunters pledging loyalty to any one kingdom. He was wary of advanced technology and dust applications, while she was intimately familiar with the cutting-edge research and machines available to them. He found, to his shock, that she was fiercely critical of her father's business practices with respect to the Faunus. Qrow was uncomfortable with this, sensing a good deal of buried anger in the conversation. Afterwards, he decided to let the matter rest until he knew her better. Sometimes their talks would become so heated that they bordered on fights, but they always stopped before any damage was done.

The villagers began to notice that if they saw Qrow or Winter, then the other would not be far away. They said nothing to the two Hunters, but there were many knowing grins exchanged between the old folk when they were near. The town adopted Winter just as it had adopted Qrow, and although her ingrained formality kept her from being as close with the villagers as Qrow was, they came to love her regardless.

As the days dragged by, their eyes met more often. The small touches they shared began to linger. When the Hunters woke in the mornings, he would invariably look across the room to see if she was awake. Whenever he found her looking back - and she often was - his heart would begin to race, but he would always turn away and try to convince himself that he was misreading the situation. She was a Shnee; she wasn't interested in men like him. Her type was some rich businessman's son who had connections and a promising future, not a traveling Huntsman with a well-worn cloak.

Then, there was the more compelling reason - what if he was wrong? If he was rejected...Qrow had been rejected before, but he had his team to prop him up then. He had fallen for Winter harder and faster than for anyone in his life, and he simply didn't know if he would be able to handle the pain. He was broken already.

Their silent dance lasted until the sixth week after they came to the North. He had been the first to stand the watch one night. Winter had come to share the it with him, as each of them always did when the other was assigned the duty. The night was quiet save for the occasional pop of frozen wood from the forest beyond the walls, and their conversation quickly lapsed into a companionable silence. Qrow was content, so much so that he was almost irritated when he caught sight of their replacements coming to relieve them.

After handing over the watch, they walked slowly back to the hut, neither willing for the night to end just yet. Qrow was torn by indecision and doubt. He desperately wanted to kiss her, but he was terrified of the consequences that might result if he did. He wondered why this couldn't be as easy as it was in the movies - at least there you knew who was going to end up together and who didn't have a chance.

Qrow was no closer to knowing what he should do by the time they reached the cabin, so he compromised. Hoping against hope that an unsolicited hug wouldn't offend the woman's strict sensibilities, he reached out and pulled her close. She rested against him for a second, but then she pushed back, and for a horrible moment Qrow thought that he had made a mistake. His arms immediately fell to his sides, but she merely tilted her head back and looked up at him.

Qrow gazed back. There was a voice in the back of his head shouting that they were _entirely_ too close, that he couldn't look at her for this long without her realizing, that he would mess the entire thing up if he didn't stop _now_ , but he was far too lost in her eyes to care. They were beautiful, even in the darkness, and he _really_ needed to move back, or at the very least say something so they could pretend this hadn't happened. He opened his mouth desperately, but then a small hand grabbed the front of his coat and pulled him down into a kiss, and the only thing he could think about was how very _warm_ she was for someone named Winter.

His hands sprang up from his sides, one settling on the small of her back to pull her closer while the other rose to tangle his fingers in her hair. He forgot the cold, forgot the mission, forgot even the pain that lingered constantly in the back of his mind. His world was contained in the space between them.

She broke the kiss to fall back on her heels, breathing heavily. He had never forgotten what she looked like then. Her normally perfect hair was mussed, her bun almost falling out of its ties. Her eyes shone in the pale light of the broken moon, and the clouds from her quick breaths hung between them in the night air. He lowered his head to kiss her again, but she raised her hand and cupped his cheek with a small smile.

"It is late," she said simply, "and I am cold. We will talk tomorrow, when we have the time." She raised up on her toes and kissed him gently, then turned and went into the hut. Qrow stood outside for a moment longer, marveling at what had just happened, until the bite of the wind convinced him to follow Winter inside.

The rest of the mission was a blur to Qrow. The snow began to melt, and the Ursa soon made an appearance to attack a group of villagers who had gone to the forest to replenish the town's rapidly diminishing wood supply. The fight was anticlimactic, really; a lone Grimm didn't stand a chance against a team of professional Huntsman, particularly a group of huntsman that were well rested and bored.

With the Ursa dead and the snow melting, there was no longer anything to keep them in the small town. Qrow said farewell to the villagers with sadness, promising many times to visit them if he was in the area. Winter said her goodbyes as well, although she was much more eager than Qrow to return to civilization. A Bullhead arrived to fly them out the next day.

Qrow returned to Beacon a new man. He stopped drinking almost entirely. He joked more, laughed constantly, and made new friends. Those who had known him noticed that he had a newfound liking for contracts based in Atlas, but no one knew what to make of it. Neither could Beacon's businessmen find out why the older Schnee daughter had taken a sudden interest in that branch of her father's corporate empire, despite her previous indifference. A few tabloids had speculated that a secret lover was the reason behind the recent sightings of the heiress' distinctive dustplane in the skies of Beacon, but with no photos or proof forthcoming the stories quickly dropped by the wayside. It was amusing, in a way, because they kept their relationship secret precisely for that reason. Qrow and Winter had no desire to deal with any kind of publicity that would result if the news rags found out that the elder Schnee daughter was dating.

Eight months after the start of their clandestine relationship, Winter had left on an extended training mission with the Atlas military, followed by a week at her family's home. Qrow missed her more than even he had expected; the military had barred the use of scrolls for the duration of training, preventing the couple's daily calls and messages. He filled his days with training of his own, along with extra missions, movies, and anything else he could do to pass time.

When he had finally heard that she was returning his heart leapt with joy. They had agreed to meet at his house for dinner when she returned, to catch up and make up for lost time. Qrow was a terrible cook, but there was a great diner around the corner that offered takeout. He called and arranged to have it delivered to his flat, then went out to the liquor store down the street to get a bottle of whiskey. He didn't drink much anymore, but was a night to celebrate.

The time they had agreed upon came and went. Qrow called Winter, but got no response. He was worried - she was never late. Still, she could take care of herself. He smoothed his hair back and settled down on the couch to wait.

It was over an hour later when the door finally opened and closed. Qrow leapt to his feet and went to sweep Winter up into a hug, but she stepped away with a curt shake of her head. He stopped, confused and hurt.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She took a deep breath and looked at him. "We...can no longer see each other."

He froze. Surely she wasn't trying to say that she..."What do you mean?"

"What I mean, Qrow," she said coldly, "is that I am about to leave, and when I do, you are not to contact me in any way."

"Winter, what?" His brain spun. Where had this come from? They had planned this night out just before she left. Had something happened while she was away?

"Is it really that hard to understand?" she snapped. "We. Are. Over. Don't try to call me, don't message me, and _don't_ follow me." She turned sharply on her heel and swept out, leaving a stunned Qrow in her wake. He shook himself free of his shock and ran after her, reaching out to grab her arm.

She heard him coming and spun around, drawing her sword as she did. He barely managed to pull himself up before being impaled on the blade. She narrowed her eyes. "I _said_ not to follow me," she growled.

Qrow tried to open his mouth to speak, to ask what was wrong, to find out where this was all coming from, but found himself unable to move at all. He could see the unmistakable form of a glyph under his feet, the sharp points sticking out into the edges of his vision. He was trapped.

Winter turned once more and walked crisply away. It was the last he would see of her for over a year.

Qrow had thrown himself into his work completely. When he wasn't working he drank so that he couldn't remember her, but that didn't always work. Whenever Ironwood came to Beacon, she came as well. He dealt with her in the only way he knew to, with withering sarcasm and pointed barbs. "Ice Queen" was what he called her now, and he got a kind of cruel delight out of seeing the pain in her eyes whenever he used that name. He could see that she felt guilty in some way for the way she had ripped his heart apart so callously, and he was determined to make her feel some of that pain. Revenge was best served cold, after all. He thought it appropriate, for no one was colder than Winter Schnee.

Qrow closed his eyes and fought down the anger that rose within him. He had to wake up tomorrow to begin Jaune's training, so it wouldn't do to spend all night brooding. He flipped over on the hard bed and banished the memories from his mind with the discipline born of long practice. There were more important things to do than dwell on the past, and at the moment sleep was one of them.

* * *

Ren twitched. The academy gardens were empty except for him, sitting on the ground beneath an old oak tree. He was meditating, or trying to meditate, to be more precise. After a minute of stillness, he twitched again. The young man opened his eyes in exasperation. What was the purpose of meditating if it didn't calm him down?

He considered trying once more, but decided to give up. There was no point in trying to find balance with the world when the world itself was out of balance. His best friend was gone, and he had to figure out how to deal with that. _Well_ , he corrected himself mentally, _Nora is my best friend, but she's...Nora. She's different._ He didn't waste time trying to figure out what different _meant_ , exactly, but let it go at that. Rising to his feet, he began to make his way back to JNPR's dorm room.

It had been two days since Jaune had left, and two days since the world had fallen apart around his group of friends. Ozpin had called the remnants of JNPR to his office yesterday to officially inform them of Jaune's expulsion. Pyrrha and Nora couldn't bring themselves to go, so he had made the long walk to Ozpin's office alone. He didn't explain why he was the only one to come, and Ozpin didn't ask. The meeting was short. He had immediately refused the old man's offer of counseling services for the team; he and Nora had taken care of themselves for years. If Pyrrha needed it, they would go, but unless that happened he refused to talk about his troubles with the administration who had caused them. Besides, his team and RWBY were family. They would take care of each other.

Ren's steps slowed as he neared the room. Jaune's departure had been hard for all of them, and it had made dorm life interesting, to say the least. He, Yang, and Blake were dealing with it the best, and they had taken it upon themselves to care for the others. Ruby dragged herself around, eyes downcast, always a few words away from beginning to cry silently. Nora was uncharacteristically quiet; she hadn't broken something for over twenty-four hours, which he _knew_ was some kind of record. Even Weiss had been affected, for all she liked to pretend that she didn't care. She had reverted to her old self, to the frosty, cutting attitude she had when they met her.

Pyrrha taken his loss the worst, of course, and as much as Ren hated to admit it she was why he hesitated to go back to the dorm. He paused in front of their door and put his hand on the knob. _She's family,_ he reminded himself. _She needs us._ With a deep breath, he stepped into the room.

The lights were off and the curtains drawn, even though it was the middle of the afternoon. After a moment of consideration, Ren flipped on the lights and looked to the beds. Nora was gone, which worried him, but Pyrrha was in bed. At least, he thought she was. It was hard to tell under the pile of blankets.

He walked slowly over to Jaune's bed and peered over the sheets. The girl was there, curled up and asleep. That was good, anyway. She hadn't gotten out of bed either yesterday or today, but she hadn't slept much last night. He didn't know what time she got back from the training rooms exactly, but it had been at least six that morning. He walked silently back to the door and flipped off the lights. When she woke up, he would find out what she was doing this summer. He and Nora were staying at Beacon, and he thought it might be a good idea for her to stay as well. Maybe if they were all together they could learn how to function as a team again before the year started.

Unless...unless Ozpin assigned another member to their team. He frowned. That would be bad. They were going to have a hard enough time functioning without having to deal with the jealousy and anger that would undoubtedly come if someone tried to replace Jaune.

Ren took a deep breath and let that thought go. The world had enough troubles without him imagining ones that didn't exist. Among those troubles was the fact that Nora was out of the room and unsupervised, and while he knew that she would be quiet when depressed, if something made her angry...things would get nasty. Besides, she was Nora, and he needed to be there for her. Pyrrha almost certainly wouldn't wake up until tomorrow, so there was no need to worry about her waking up alone. He looked one last time at the sleeping girl, then left to find his partner.

* * *

 **Hi, guys and gals! This chapter took a bit longer to write than I expected, but here it is. As with the other OCs in this story, James Stirling follows Monty's color-naming rule; Stirling is a traditional name adopted by English silversmiths. James himself follows Monty's tendency to use characters from myth. I modeled him after James "Jim" Bowie, the early American pioneer, adventurer, and knife fighter, best known for his invention of the Bowie knife (which James uses) and for his death at the Battle of the Alamo in 1836 (the fact that the name "James" is already a part of the RWBYverse helped as well). The town Silver Falls is modeled after American mining towns of the nineteenth century, specifically Silver City, New Mexico, and Silver Reef, Utah. The "Fall" portion of the name comes from the waterfalls that form on the mountains above Silver Falls in the river that forms from meltwater, as well as from Monty's penchant for the word "fall" (Cinder Fall, the Fall Maiden, Forever Fall, "** _ **when it faaallls"**_ **, etc.). As you can see, there will be a few OCs in the story, but not many, and not particularly important. We'll be sticking to canon characters as much as possible.**

 **I feel terrible because I told you guys that there would be action and training in this chapter, and instead it ended up mostly as Qrow and Winter backstory. I decided to go ahead and post it, though, because it's been a solid month since I updated last. I just hope you guys will forgive me. The next chapter begins with a scene from Jaune's training, though, so it's coming.**

 **As always, I will never abandon a story.**

 **Much love to you all,**

 **Anthologion**


	4. Of Fighting and Fish

It is a universal truth that Hunters in the field rise with the sun. The time-honored routine springs from a single, simple observation: if it is bright enough for you to see the Grimm, then it is bright enough for the Grimm to see you. Like many other simple and practical rules, this practice was quickly accepted as _de facto_ law, if for no other reason than those who made a habit of disobeying it had a tendency to permanently disappear while on missions.

Which made it a shame, Qrow mused as he looked down at his sleeping apprentice, that Ozpin let his students sleep late. In the end, it was just one more habit he would need to beat out of the kid.

He turned and walked to the wall where Jaune's gear lay in a neat pile. Bending over, he grabbed the leather straps of the breastplate and picked it up, accidentally knocking the matching spaulders to the ground as he did so. Qrow looked quickly behind him to see if the clatter had woken the boy, but Jaune continued to breathe softly, blissfully unaware of the world.

The hunter scowled. A heavy sleeper was a dead sleeper, and no apprentice of his was going to be killed over something so easily fixed. He stepped quietly over to Jaune's bed, then hoisted the breastplate up from his side and tossed it onto his companion's stomach.

Jaune woke with a cry of alarm, his head whipping back and forth to find the culprit.

"Nora-" he began indignantly, only to trail off when he saw Qrow. "Oh."

"If I were a creature of Grimm, you'd be dead." Qrow said, giving Jaune a hard look. "Hunters can't afford to be heavy sleepers."

With that, the man turned around and made his way across the room to his pack. It seemed best to give the kid a minute to get his bearings before springing the day on him.

He bent over and began to rummage through his supplies, searching for a clean shirt. _Dirty...torn...dirty again..._ he really needed to do laundry at some point. It was just that everyday domestic tasks tended to pale in comparison to the impending doom of modern civilization.

 _There._ Qrow raised the shirt to his nose, sniffed, and shrugged. _Close enough_.

He pulled it over his head, then looked back at Jaune. The boy was sitting on the bed still, staring off into the corner of their room with a glum expression.

He cleared his throat. Jaune started out of his reverie and whipped his head around to look at Qrow.

"Be downstairs in ten minutes," he said, clipping his scythe to his back. "We've got work to do."

Jaune sat silently for a moment once Qrow left their room. He had been so sure that Nora had decided to wake him with her usual over-the-top antics, and the weight of reality, of memory, made his chest ache. She should be bouncing around the room, singing nonsense and good-mornings while Ren dressed himself mechanically, still half-asleep. Pyrrha should be stretching and yawning, then moving over to her desk to pull her hair into the long, flowing ponytail that she favored. And maybe, just maybe, they _were_ doing those things now, but hundreds of miles away, and without him.

Despondent, he slid out of bed, and padded over to his bags to pull out the first jeans and t-shirt he came across.

As Jaune dressed, he continued to think about his team. They would be fine without him, he knew. _They might even be stronger,_ a voice in the back of his head whispered. They could all take care of themselves, and without his weight dragging them down...he paused in the middle of buckling a vambrace to frown at the far wall.

 _Without his weight_...it wouldn't make sense for Ozpin to leave the team a man down. Too much of Beacon's curriculum depended on two- and four-man teams to allow for that.

He was going to be replaced.

The thought sank down to sit in his stomach like a rock. Pyrrha was going to be assigned a new partner.

Distracted by this unpleasant train of thought, it took him several moments to realize that he was attempting to tug his right-hand glove onto his left hand. He switched it over, his brow crinkled in worried thought. She would probably be the new - _no_ , he corrected automatically, _Ren will be the new team leader_. Pyrrha, as brilliant as she was, tended to be too detail-oriented to be an effective leader. Ren could see the larger picture, and as a result could delegate more effectively.

Still, she would have a new partner. As in, not him. Not Jaune.

He tried to squash the jealousy that flared within him. Maybe the new partner would be a girl. There was always a chance, right?

Jaune pulled on his other glove and walked towards the door, grabbing up Crocea Mors from its place by the wall and clipping it to his belt. As he reached for the doorknob, he paused, then turned and went back to his bed. Reaching into a small pouch on his pack, he removed Pyrrha's pen and shoved it into his pocket. _There._ He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped out into the hallway in search of Qrow.

He found his mentor downstairs in what was apparently the dining area of the inn. The room was deserted, but the number of tables and benches scattered around the room suggested that this was a popular gathering place. Qrow and the old innkeeper stood near the door, talking quietly.

They broke apart as he approached, the innkeeper shuffling off towards the bar while Qrow turned to face Jaune.

Qrow gestured towards a nearby chair. "Grab a seat."

Jaune sat, yawning as he did so. Qrow took a chair of his own, spinning it around to sit in it backwards.

"You've probably got questions," Qrow began, "about how all this is going to work."

Jaune chuckled weakly. "Yeah...you could say that." The truth was that he hadn't thought about it much at all. He had accepted the Hunter's offer almost immediately, willing to try anything that would allow him to be a Huntsman.

Qrow gave a short bark of laughter. "Yeah, I guess this was all a bit sudden, wasn't it? Well, here's how it's going to go." He paused for a moment, thinking.

"You've got to understand that this isn't Beacon. You'll learn more about being a Huntsman in one week out here than you did in a month of sitting around in classes and play-fighting with Glynda. It's great 'cause there's no assignments and no grades, but that also means that there's no one out here to hold your hand."

"I've fought the Grimm before!" protested Jaune.

"Yeah, Oz told me – Forever Fall, right? Those don't count. No experienced Grimm goes within miles of Beacon; there are too many trigger-happy students and Huntsmen around for that. You fought babies, juveniles, Grimm too young to know better. The Grimm out here are far more dangerous."

Jaune looked at him in awe. " _Oz_?"

" _That's_ what you took away from that?" Qrow shook his head and raised his hands to massage his temples. "No wonder you're friends with Ruby."

"Hey, you say that like it's a bad thing!"

"It's not a - " Qrow groaned. "Pay attention! The point is that there's no one out here to save you if you mess up. There's no _Atlesian military_ ," he spat, "to save the day, and there's no team to have your back. It's just you and me, and if either of us mess up, we're both dead."

Jaune sobered immediately. He didn't want to die, of course, and the thought of someone else dying because of his mistake was even worse.

"Then how do I, ah, not mess up?" he asked, realizing how lame that sounded even as he said it. _Good job, Jaune_ , he mocked silently. _Now he definitely thinks you're an idiot_.

He watched Qrow for any sign of disappointment or disdain, but the man merely shrugged like it was a normal question.

"You do exactly what I tell you to do."

Jaune nodded. _That_ cleared things up. "Right," he said, clearing his throat. "...and, uh...what will that involve?"

"It involves what it involves, kid. We're Hunters, not innkeepers." Jaune, frustrated, glanced over to the bar where the ancient innkeeper was slowly wiping down the counter. Qrow jerked his head in the man's direction. "Look at him. He knows, more or less, what he's going to be doing every day for the next week. Hunters don't, and we never will."

"For today, though," he rose abruptly to his feet and stretched, "we've got a pretty good idea."

"…What?" Jaune asked after a moment of awkward silence.

"Have you ever run until you threw up?"

* * *

Qrow strode from the inn and leaned against the wall by the door, casting a dour glance at the Schnee statue. A good hour had passed since he had sent his new apprentice out running. At the moment, the kid's route took him by the inn about once every fifteen minutes. If his pattern continued, he should be passing again soon.

Making the boy run until he puked first thing on his first day _was_ a bit on the sadistic side, but these first days needed to be hard. The town was (relatively) safe, certainly far safer than the outside world, and when his mission to find the Queen took them beyond the safety of walls and friends he needed to know that Jaune could handle hardship.

After all, if Jaune broke here they would at least survive the experience.

He looked up at the clouds, searching for answers to the problems that swirled in his mind. Teaching was not something he had intended to do on this mission, or on any mission really. The decision to pick up Jaune had been the thought of a moment, made on the fly. He didn't regret it – Ozpin was not one to tolerate duplicity, and for him to be willing to dismiss Jaune's forgery meant that the man saw a good deal of potential in the Arc boy. However, that did mean that he needed to work out the finer details, like how much to tell the kid.

He was used to working alone; it was safer that way, harder for the Queen to notice him and harder for her to follow him if she did. Two people meant twice as many supplies and twice as many tracks to cover. It meant that he couldn't fly out if things got hairy. Still, it did mean another sword, another set of eyes and, most importantly, another brain.

Something moved in the corner of his eye, and he turned to see Jaune trudging out of a side street into the square. His hair was ruffled and his shirt dark with sweat underneath his armor. Qrow raised an eyebrow.

"I thought I sent you running, not walking."

"You said to run until I threw up." Jaune answered wearily, leaning over to put his hands on his knees. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction he came. "I did."

"Where?"

Jaune raised his eyes to Qrow in disbelief.

Qrow guffawed and waved a hand. "Don't worry, I'm kidding. Good work."

He clapped Jaune on the back and opened the door to the inn.

"Come on, kid, let's get some breakfast."

Ignoring Jaune's groan, he made his way inside and ordered for the both of them, finding a table in the back corner of the room. Some of the townsfolk were up now, sitting in small groups around the room talking quietly. Normally he would go sit with them, but he needed to talk figure out what to say to the boy.

After a few minutes, the apprentice in question appeared and walked back to Qrow's table. He fell into his seat, stinking of sweat.

Qrow pointed to a door a few feet away. "Showers are outside. Smaller building, back of the courtyard."

Jaune shot him a dirty look, then rose painfully to his feet and hobbled up the stairs to grab a change of clothes.

The hunter snorted in amusement and continued to nurse a cup of coffee. He didn't usually drink the stuff, but he had spent far too much time last night lying awake and thinking of Winter. It was a dangerous pleasure to have indulged in – those were some of the happiest days of his life, but the residual resentment could easily be fatal were he to step outside the walls.

Eventually Jaune walked back in, sporting wet hair and wrinkled clothes. He slid into his seat and immediately attacked his food with single-minded concentration. His manners were terrible, but Qrow didn't care. Things like that didn't matter out here.

He took a deep breath and began in a low voice.

"Keep eating, but pay attention."

Jaune slowed his eating and looked up, curious.

"What I'm about to tell you is a secret, understand? And I don't mean secret in an I'll-tell-Ruby-when-I-get-back way, I mean really secret. You tell _no one_."

Jaune swallowed and looked around carefully, then leaned in and whispered, "Should we be talking here, then?"

"Don't whisper and don't look around like that," ordered Qrow softly. "But no, here is fine. Never talk about secrets behind locked doors – you'll never know who's listening at the keyhole." The table creaked as he leaned his elbows on it. "Here, we see everyone, and if we talk quiet our voices get lost in the chatter."

Jaune nodded seriously, and Qrow heaved an internal sigh. It was like talking to a brick, this kid. Ruby said he was friendly, but all he had done so far was nod and give short answers. He was probably just uncomfortable. Hopefully.

"I'm not out here hunting Grimm. I'm on a job for Ozpin" - how often he was on jobs for Ozpin wasn't important right now - "hunting a woman."

"So…a rescue mission."

Qrow chuckled darkly. "No. If anything, we're probably going to kill her. Find her, definitely, and capture her if we can manage it, but I doubt that."

" _What?_ "

"She's dangerous, kid. More dangerous than anyone you've ever met, and we know next to nothing about her. I've seen her before, and that's why I'm doing the job. As far as we know, no one else who knows what she is also knows what she looks like."

"…What does she look like?"

Qrow shook his head. "You don't need to know that. Focus on training - if you need to know more, I'll tell you."

He rose from the table and motioned to Jaune to do the same. "We've got work to do."

"Wait," Jaune frowned, "that was it?"

"What, you expected more? You know what you need to know; now we move on." That wasn't a hard and fast rule for Huntsmen, but Qrow had always hated to waste time. The kid would learn that soon enough.

He rose to his feet and motioned for Jaune to follow him.

"Come on. We've got a town to see."

The older man strode confidently down the main street that ran down from the square to the largest set of gates. Jaune hurried along in his wake, taking in everything he could. Apparently the entire town rose early, for the street was already bustling with people. The air buzzed with conversations between shop owners and customers haggling over prices and between miners tramping down the street towards the gates. A hammer sounded from an unseen smithy, ringing out over the snorts and squawks of livestock and poultry being driven to butchers or pens.

Names and places that Qrow pointed out as they walked whirled through Jaune's head. Try as he might to keep them straight, he knew that he would have to be told many of them again. Tailor, general store, blacksmith, storage building, carpenter…the streets were a maze of shops, homes, and outbuildings. Jaune found himself missing the neat blocks and wide avenues of Vale.

"Hey," Qrow called over his shoulder. "It's your first day in a new town as a huntsman. What's the first thing you do?"

"Run until I throw up?" Jaune answered with a wry grin.

Qrow threw back his head and laughed - a low, warm sound almost at odds with his moody persona. "Nah, you want to find the doctors. Medical building, hospital, whatever. It's the weakest link, right? All that suffering concentrated in one place. You want to know where that is – it's why most hospitals are at the middle of town."

"So...is that where we're going? Wherever it is?"

"We'll do that later. The medical building is right across from the inn - you should have noticed that on your run."

Jaune felt his ears burn in embarrassment. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Where are we going, then?"

"The walls."

"Oh." Jaune was quiet for a few seconds. "When are we going to hunt?"

Qrow snorted. "Is _that_ what you think being a Hunter is about? Killing Grimm?"

He frowned at Qrow's back. What, was this a trick question? "I, uh...yes? I mean...Hunters protect humanity from the creatures of Grimm, right? And we do that by killing them."

"No," Qrow said flatly. "If you want to kill Grimm, go back to Vale and join the military. They'll give you a gun, teach you to obey, and you can slaughter as many Grimm as you want. You don't even have to be on the ground to fight; you've seen the airships."

Memories flashed through Jaune's mind, memories of desperation, of fighting in the streets of Vale against wave after wave of Grimm, until the otherworldly chatter of tri-barreled cannons announced the arrival of the Atlas fleet.

Qrow was right. Crocea Mors could never compete with that. His whole _team_ couldn't compete with that.

"...If we don't kill Grimm, then what are we supposed to do?"

Qrow stopped and looked at the sky in exasperation. "Look, kid. I told you, this isn't Beacon and I'm not some fancy-pants professor. I'm not gonna sit here and tell you what to think. You tell me."

Jaune thought over his time at Beacon, of classes with Port and Oobleck and Goodwitch. Everything he had done was undeniably centered around killing the creatures that stalked humanity. Combat, survival, history…all of it was for one purpose.

"Look at it this way, alright?" Jaune looked up in surprise. "The military can kill more Grimm in less time than any Huntsman. The thing is, they're slow. When they want to do something, it has to go to a committee where the powers that be argue about it and come up with something that's close to what the military wanted, but not really. Then, the military might try to negotiate to get what they really want, or they might not, and by the time everyone is satisfied the whole problem might have blown over."

"So, we move faster?" said Jaune. It was an interesting point, but he didn't see how that changed the role of Hunters.

"Yeah," replied Qrow. "A lot faster. But even better, we're neutral. If Atlas wants their military to go somewhere, they have to explain it, see? Otherwise the other kingdoms get nervous. Hunters don't worry about all that. We go anywhere, anytime."

"Is that why we have different weapons?"

Qrow shot him a sidelong glance. "What do you mean?" he replied cryptically.

"Well..." Jaune said thoughtfully. "The military uses guns, right? But that's it. Hunters have guns, but they're other stuff at the same time. Like Ruby's rifle that's also a scythe."

Qrow looked mildly offended. "It's not a rifle that's also a scythe, it's scythe that's also a rifle."

"What?!" Jaune was indignant. "How are those any different?"

"The scythe is the important part, kid. The rifle is just secondary. Think - why is it important that we have multipurpose weapons?"

"…Oh!" he realized after a moment. "We don't need bullets."

"Exactly." Qrow nodded. "If those pieces of electronic garbage the military call knights run out of ammunition, they're useless. What are they gonna do, hold the Grimm down until it agrees to come quietly?" He smirked. "When we go into the field, we can stay there as long as we need. We can work with the locals and deal with the complicated problems, like this Queen of ours. So yeah, we kill Grimm, but we're not just killing machines."

Jaune ducked behind Qrow just in time to avoid a harassed-looking woman carrying a protesting rooster. He watched the unhappy fowl pass cautiously, then returned his attention to his tutor. _That_ was where Qrow was going with this. It made sense, he supposed, although he still didn't see how it made people the center of the job. The talk about multipurpose weapons brought up another question, though.

"Does that mean that I need to get a gun?" he asked. "My sword doesn't shift or anything. It's…kind of an heirloom."

Qrow snorted. "Slow down there, grasshopper. Some Hunters don't use ranged weapons at all, and you seem to be doing fine without them."

"Yeah, about that...I'm not exactly the strongest fighter."

"You haven't died yet," Qrow pointed out. "I'd say that's doing good enough."

Jaune opened his mouth to reply, but after a moment looked down to examine the cobblestones at his feet with more care than was perhaps necessary. The extent of his struggles with swordplay would come to light soon enough without him arguing with his…what was Qrow? _Master_ sounded too much like he was a slave. Tutor, maybe? Teacher? Instructor?

Lost in the vagaries of diction, he didn't notice that Qrow had stopped in the street until he almost ran into him. The older man was looking at him curiously.

It was not, Jaune decided, an entirely pleasant experience. Somehow he got the feeling that Qrow saw far more of him than he would like.

"You don't believe me." Qrow observed. "Do you?"

Jaune sighed and glanced away. It wasn't that he disbelieved Qrow so much as it was that he simply knew otherwise. The problem was figuring out how to say it without like he mistrusted the older man.

"Right." Qrow pursed his lips, apparently debating with himself. "Tell you what, kid. Come with me."

Jaune followed him back the way they had come, up the street and across the square towards the inn. He expected them to go back inside, but Qrow led him instead around the back of the building to a small courtyard between the inn and the structure that housed the inn's kitchens.

"We," Qrow turned abruptly, "are going to spar." He gave Jaune a hard look and drew his sword out from behind his back. "You think you're no good? Let's find out."

Jaune clenched his teeth and drew his own blade. He didn't want to make a fool of himself on his first real day, but even Pyrrha's help wasn't enough to let him go head to head with an experienced Huntsman.

 _'Wait a minute',_ he realized _._ Experienced Huntsman. Qrow wasn't _expecting_ him to fight head to head - virtually no one with one year of training could do that. Qrow _expected_ Jaune to lose, _expected_ to have to teach him. The thought sent a wave of relief down his body. Qrow just wanted him to fight.

Well, fight he would. No Arc was going to give up easily. He reached down and grasped his scabbard, his thumb flicking the catch to unfold the shield from storage. The wings of metal slid outwards with a familiar scrape, letting the Arc crest shine in the midday sun. His arm slid through the straps automatically, settling it against his body as he had a thousand times before. Holding the shield in front of him, blade low to his side, he cautiously began to circle his opponent.

Qrow raised his massive sword and held it in both hands, turning to keep Jaune in front of him. He made no move to strike.

Jaune quickly gave up on waiting for Qrow to attack. He moved to engage with a wide swing aimed vaguely at Qrow's torso. The man blocked it easily, so he quickly skipped backwards with his shield high in anticipation of the counterattack.

No attack came, and he again moved forward, this time keeping his distance and lunging forwards to try to nick Qrow with the tip. Qrow stepped backwards, out of range, and regarded Jaune calmly.

Jaune grimaced in frustration. He hated fights against a passive enemy. Defensive fighting was more his style, blocking blows with his shield and following up with a strike from his sword to their unprotected side. He couldn't do that if Qrow wasn't aggressive. _Maybe I can bait Qrow into it_ , he thought.

He dashed forwards and swung again, allowing his sword be parried and throwing his weight behind his shield to slam it into Qrow's stomach. The man grunted, but kept his feet and pushed Jaune backwards with his own greater weight. The great scythe-sword rose and fell, whistling through the air in the counterattack Jaune had hoped for.

Jaune raised his shield to take the blow, only to stagger when it landed. Qrow was _strong_. He leapt away from the second strike, circling again from a safe distance.

"Don't do that," Qrow ordered, his sword held up at the ready. "If your first attack fails, try something else. Any decent opponent can block one attack."

Jaune nodded and stepped in to feint a lunge towards Qrow's shoulder, whipping the blade around into a vicious swipe across the man's stomach. The great sword swung down with amazing speed to push it aside harmlessly. He moved his shield to the midline of his body to block the countering swing, returned a jab of his own, and sent a second after it.

This time it was Qrow who stepped back, smiling. "Better," he allowed.

Jaune took the praise with only a small smile. He knew it was better, but he still hadn't so much as touched Qrow.

Again he moved, striking out with the flat of his shield to distract Qrow while he drew back his sword to strike. The hunter reached out and grabbed the edge of the shield, dragging Jaune forwards and off balance. He put a hand on Jaune's back and shoved him away, causing the boy to crash to the ground.

Jaune rolled to the side and scrambled to his feet. He watched Qrow from a distance and shook out his shield arm. That had been stupid. He knew that Qrow was stronger than him; he shouldn't have lead with the shield bash.

He refolded the shield and clipped it to his hip so he could hold Crocea Mors in two hands. Two hands meant more force to parry with, so he probably wouldn't lose his footing this time. His feet scuffed the gritty paving stones of the courtyard experimentally. Qrow stood and waited, showing no inclination to attack.

He dashed forwards and brought his sword whistling down from above to meet Qrow's scythe. He pulled it up and over the larger blade to strike from the other side, then pulled it back and into a two-handed lunge. The two men danced back and forth in a long series of blows. Eventually Jaune gave up and backed away, breathing heavily.

"That it?" Qrow asked. Jaune noticed with a flash of irritation that he was barely winded. He growled and ran forwards to leap high into the air with his sword back, twisting to put his whole weight behind the blow.

Suddenly Qrow sprang forwards, lowering his shoulder and driving it below Jaune's sternum.

There was a flash of light and a searing pain in his chest. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision and found himself lying on the stone of the courtyard. Qrow leaned over him with an amused smirk. "Yeah, that's it."

He reached out his hand and pulled Jaune to his feet. Jaune promptly doubled over and gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him.

"Well, kid, you're no Pyrrha Nikos," Qrow observed.

Jaune groaned in pain. He was pretty sure a rib was broken, at the very least. And what did Qrow mean, 'no Pyrrha?' Of course he wasn't. He had never thought that he was.

"Want to tell me why that last move was a bad idea?"

Jaune managed to get enough air into his protesting lungs to gasp out a question.

"What happened?"

Qrow chuckled and stored his sword behind his back. "You jumped, and I knocked you down. Never do that, kid, unless you absolutely have to. It might look fancy, but you can't react while you're in the air."

"Right," he coughed.

"Your biggest problem is that you think too much."

...What was he supposed to do, _not_ think?

"You know what to do, I'll give you that, but you take too long to do it. Look at Pyrrha. She's so good because she doesn't think, she feels. She knows what to do instinctively." Qrow took his arm and stood him upright.

"You don't have that instinct, not on a personal level. Oz tells me you're good at strategy, but that's instinct on a large scale. We can work on that, and you'll get a feel for it, but you'll never be as good as someone who has it naturally."

Jaune grimaced and set his shoulders back. That was true, but it didn't bother him. His goal was to be a hero, to help people, not just to be better than others. He would work as hard as he always had.

A heavy hand clapped down on his back again. "You'll do, though."

He looked up at Qrow, who wore a serious expression.

"I'm not going to lie to you out here," he continued. "Not when both of our lives are at stake. If I thought you couldn't handle the Wilds, you would be on the next transport back to Vale."

Jaune considered this. "If you say so," he finally said. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," answered Qrow with a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. "I'm going to make sure of that."

"…What does that mean?"

Qrow laughed and gave him a light shove on the shoulder. "Get outta here. Go learn the town - you're no good to me until you know this place inside and out. I don't want to see you until tonight."

Jaune sighed. "Well, there goes my nap."

Qrow looked at him incredulously, then pointed towards the square. "Go!"

He went, laughing internally. He really hadn't expected to get a nap, but Qrow's face…that was definitely worth a few lien.

Now, where should he go? He had gotten a vague idea of the layout of the streets this morning, but now he needed detail. Best to start in the middle, then, and work his way out.

Qrow watched the boy go until he was out of sight, and sighed. He hadn't lied to Jaune - he could handle the Wilds, but only as long as Qrow was with him. Jaune needed a lot of work if he was going to survive, but there was no way on Remnant he was going to take a kid from Ozpin and then come back without him. He nodded decisively to himself as he turned back towards the inn. Whatever his flaws, the kid had a point - sleep sounded really good right now.

* * *

Weiss Schnee woke up feeling uneasy. She was no stranger to nerves, particularly before she had a chance to wake up fully, but this was not her normal case of morning worry. She wasn't worried about classes, or about whether Ruby had remembered to set her alarm clock, or even about how horribly embarrassing it would be if she had forgotten to press her skirt the night before. This was far more serious.

She lay quietly on her back and listened to her teammates move around the room. Ruby had probably woken first, as she usually did, and crawled down from her bed to go wake Yang. Blake would have snapped awake as soon as Ruby began to move, and the three had gone about their morning routines until the small noises they made gradually woke her.

This was how it always went. The question was whether it would continue to do so.

Weiss sat up, automatically pushing rumpled hair out of her face. Ruby noticed her movement and offered a bright smile, but no more. She was by no means a morning person, and her team had learned long ago not to talk to her for a few minutes after waking.

Today, though, was a special case. She cleared her throat.

"Ruby, Blake, Yang…may we talk?"

Her team all turned to look at her in surprise.

"Yes, I'm talking, and yes, it's morning," she said impatiently. "But we need to have a serious discussion."

"…Sure," Yang replied. She dropped her boots on the ground and sat in front of them with a serious expression. Blake tossed her jacket on her desk and slipped onto a chair, while Ruby moved to sit next to her sister. "What about?"

"The Vytal festival."

"Weiss, we've been over this," Blake rolled her eyes. "We're all taking training seriously. None of us wants to make fools of ourselves."

Weiss was already shaking her head. "No, this isn't about that; I'm very pleased with our progress as a team. In fact, I believe that we have every chance of advancing far in the matches…" she took a deep breath, "if we go."

"Weiss." Ruby narrowed silver eyes at her partner. "What do you mean, if?"

"I mean that, in light of…recent events," she glanced down at her lap, "it may be best if we choose to remove ourselves from the competition."

"What?!" Yang sat straight up in indignation. "You've been riding our butts for _months_ about the festival, and now you just want to quit? What about all that training?"

Weiss closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger. "Believe me, Yang, I am fully aware of the irony of the situation," she replied tiredly. "I still believe that representing Beacon would be a great honor, but I have to wonder if we aren't needed more elsewhere."

She looked up at the disbelieving stares of her teammates. "Team JNPR is not doing well. I know that none of us - yes, Yang, even me - were upset when Jaune…left."

A pang of guilt shot through her at the immediate droop of Ruby's shoulders, but she continued.

"Team JNPR is, for all intents and purposes, our sister team. They are our friends." She looked down again. "I have…not always had friends," she said softly, "but I know that they need us, and I know that they can't compete in the tournament with only three members."

"You don't want to leave them behind." Blake realized.

"The Vytal Festival _is_ in Vacuo this year," Yang pointed out, "so JNPR would have to stay behind by themselves. Nora told me they were staying all summer."

There was a pregnant pause as the four girls weighed their options.

"…Vacuo is a long way away," ventured Ruby, with a glance towards Yang.

Yang nodded silently, not completely convinced.

"They do need us, and I honestly wasn't looking forwards to the tournament much anyway," added Blake.

Yang sighed. "That settles it, then." She stood up and stretched, joints popping in protest.

"That was a _lot_ of work, though," she mourned.

"Character development," Weiss said airily.

"Speak for yourself, Princess," said Yang as she walked into the bathroom. "You can barely handle me now. Imagine more of all this!"

Weiss looked away and shuddered.

"What do we _do_ all summer?" asked Blake after a moment. "I mean, I'm fine staying, really, but three months is a long time. Even I can't read for that long." She paused, considering. "Probably."

"Teeeaaaam bonding!" cried Ruby, pumping her fist in the air.

Weiss groaned. "Haven't we bonded enough? We could be getting a head start on next year."

"Laame," came a reply through the bathroom door.

"It'll be fun, Weiss!" wheedled Ruby. "We could learn more about each other."

"Like what?" asked Weiss skeptically. They had been teammates for a year - there weren't many deep secrets left to tell.

Ruby pondered the question. "Do you know what my favorite food is?"

"Strawberries."

"Do you know what _Blake's_ favorite food is?"

Weiss thought, but was unable to come up with an answer. She raised an eyebrow at Blake.

"Fish," she answered promptly.

"Oh." Ruby nodded sagely, glancing up at her faunus ears. "That makes sense."

Blake rolled her eyes. "Not because I'm a cat faunus, Ruby."

"Wait, what?" Yang popped her head around the door, toothbrush sticking out from the side of her mouth.

"Yang!"

"What? I just assumed…it made sense, you know? Cats and fish just kinda go together."

"How would cats eat fish, Yang?" she exclaimed impatiently. "They can barely swim, let alone dive! They don't get fish unless people give it to them. I like fish for the same reason Ruby likes cookies. They taste good."

Ruby considered this for a second and then looked abashed. "Oh. Sorry, Blake."

Yang remained in the doorway for a moment, staring thoughtfully at her, then opened her mouth, "Can you-".

"Yang Xiao Long." Blake spoke through gritted teeth, "If you ask if I can swim, I _swear_ that you will be limping tomorrow."

Not waiting to see her partner's reaction, she rolled over and burrowed into her pillow. Moments later, she felt the mattress sag as someone sat on it.

"Give me _some_ credit, ok? I was going to ask if you could show us Menagerian food. You know, Faunus stuff."

Blake rolled over and raised an eyebrow.

"We were talking about eating fish," Yang said defensively. "It made me think. I know there are places around, I've just never been to them."

The fauna sighed, casting about in her mind for a solution. She couldn't cook well enough to make a meal for everyone, but…

"I know a place in Vale. They're open for lunch, if you want to go."

"Awesome!" Yang beamed.

She leaned over and called across the room, "Hey, Rubes! Weiss! You guys up for some culinary adventures?"

"Some whats?" Ruby asked.

Weiss sighed from her desk. "Culinary, Ruby. It means food." She looked across at Yang suspiciously. "What _kind_ of culinary adventures?"

"Blake knows a Menagerian place in Vale! Sounds like fun."

Weiss sighed again, put down her pen, and turned her knees sideways in the chair to face Blake and Yang.

"I _highly_ doubt that I would be welcome in such an establishment," she stated.

Blake shook her head. "You'll be fine. Just put makeup over the scar on your eye and wear something that doesn't make you look like an heiress. Nobody will recognize you."

Weiss looked skeptical, turning the idea over in her head.

"You're well known, Weiss, but not _that_ well known. The average faunus will know your name, that you have white hair like all the other Schnees, and maybe that you have a scar. Take two of those away, and no one will think twice."

Yang nodded. "It's not like anyone's going to suspect that you're going to be in a Faunus restaurant, anyway," she pointed out.

"You can borrow my sweatpants!" Ruby chimed in.

Weiss shot a glare up at her partner. "I am _not_ going out in public wearing sweatpants," she said flatly. "In fact, I don't think I even _own_ sweatpants."

"That's why you use Ruby's!" Yang grinned. "Come on, Weiss, live a little, wear normal people clothes! They're not that bad, I promise."

Weiss huffed and crossed her arms, staring sourly at the wall. Her teammates waited with baited breath.

"…Fine," she said at last, and pointed her finger at Yang, who gave a whoop of joy.

"No. Pictures." She said accusingly.

Yang raised her hands in innocence. "Hey, what is it with people and assuming the worst of me today?"

Weiss and Blake stared at her silently while Ruby snickered from the top bunk.

"I hate you all." Yang muttered, rising from Blake's bed and moving to search through her dresser for clothes.

"No, you don't!" Ruby sang out gaily.

"Yeah," Yang relented, pulling out a suitable top. "I don't hate Zwei."

"Yaaang!"

"Speaking of which," she asked, looking around, "where is the little guy?"

"Who cares?" Blake asked darkly, picking up a book from her bed.

"He spent the night in JNPR's room with Ren and Nora." Weiss answered with a glare at Blake.

Ruby frowned. "What about Pyrrha?"

"If she was there. She's…not been well." Weiss grimaced. "Ren said that she spends much of her time in the training area, and that she doesn't always come back."

They all fell silent, contemplating their friend with pity. None of them were happy that Jaune was gone, of course, but none were as broken by his expulsion as Pyrrha.

"...Maybe we should go find her." Ruby suggested in a small voice. "When I'm sad I don't really want to be around people, but I always feel better if Yang makes me do stuff."

Ruby, Weiss, and Yang all turned to look at Blake.

"What?" she asked.

"You're good at dealing with…" Weiss waved her hands vaguely, "all this. Helping suffering people."

She…supposed she was. Her time in the White Fang meant that she often dealt with those in emotional turmoil; practically everyone in that organization had their ghosts.

"That sounds like a wonderful idea," she said, sliding out of bed to her feet. This wouldn't work for some –like her, for example – but Pyrrha had never been a loner, at least not by choice.

"All right, team RWBY! Operation: Cheer up Pyrrha begins now!" Ruby cried.

"You're wearing pajama pants, Ruby," Weiss pointed out.

"Yeah, they're great. And you're wearing sweatpants!"

"I _will be_ wearing sweatpants," she corrected. "We're going to find Pyrrha right now, and I am not going to wear those… _non-clothes_ …for a second longer than I have to."

"They are too clothes," Ruby sulked. She made no move to change, but instead walked towards the door where Blake and Yang were waiting.

With her target leaving, Weiss had no choice but to leave civilizing her fashion-challenged partner for another time. She scowled in disapproval, but followed her team out into the hall.

Ruby knocked on JNPR's door and opened it without waiting for a reply. Ren lay flat in his bed with his eyes closed. Nora was, for once in her life, still. She was leaning against her headboard and absently petting Zwei. The dog sat next to her with his tongue lolling out of his mouth, the very picture of contentment.

"Hi," said Ruby hesitantly.

"Hi, Ruby," Nora replied in a sleepy tone. She looked towards the door, and the light streaming in from the window threw the deep bags under her eyes into stark relief. She looked like she hadn't slept in days.

"Sorry to interrupt like this," said Blake graciously. "Have you seen Pyrrha?"

"Probably training. She usually is, ever since Jauney left."

The girls in the doorway felt a wave of pity for the two members of JNPR. They were obviously in poor shape, but it was obvious to them all that sleep was the best thing for them right now.

"Thanks, babe." Yang said. She smiled and winked at Nora. "Get that beauty sleep!"

They quickly left the room for the brightness of the hallway, where they exchanged meaningful looks. Staying here for the summer was the right choice.

"The gym, then?" Weiss asked.

They made their way in silence across Beacon to the training facilities. The halls were noticeably less busy than they would normally be at eleven on a weekday; many students had already left for the short few weeks that passed for summer break at a combat school, leaving behind only a few stragglers and those who intended to stay until classes resumed.

The training wing at Beacon was, to put it mildly, impressive. It boasted no less than four separate weight facilities, a track, agility courses, weapons ranges, sparring courts, private rooms, physical therapy, and even a small weapons repair shop. In all of this, though, they all knew where Pyrrha would be.

At the far end of the wing was a private training room, rarely used because of its distance from the main facilities and small size. Pyrrha had discovered it quickly and latched on to it as a place to train away from the prying eyes of fans and opponents. RWBY and JNPR came to call it "Pyrrha's room", even though anyone was technically allowed to use it.

They walked through the disturbingly quiet rooms, absent of the normal clangs of barbells, cracks of small arms, and hum of chatter and instruction. Yang glanced with irritation at a bar that had been abandoned with weights still racked. "Amateurs," she grumbled, and almost moved to clean the station before catching herself. Pyrrha needed her more than she needed to fix other people's laziness.

Ruby was the first to reach the door. She peered through the small glass window, then turned and nodded at her friends. They all slipped inside.

Pyrrha had erected an agility course of sorts across the length of the room. There were targets on the far end of the wall that were obviously intended for ranged practice, and other, more substantial targets at various distances that bore the telltale cuts and slashes of melee practice.

The young woman in question stood at the head of the course. She turned her head slightly when they entered, but did not acknowledge their presence. Instead, she took a deep breath and began to run.

With astonishing grace she weaved and rolled between targets. Shots rang out as she fired rounds downrange, immediately changing to melee and slashing the nearest targets. She ducked and spun, leapt and dodged invisible blows, her precise handling of her weapon never once failing. Steel targets _tinged_ under the impact of lead rounds. Rubberized forms of Grimm shook and swayed under the force of her strikes. It was beautiful, mesmerizing even.

Her last shot _cracked_ through the air, followed quickly by the whistle of Milo as it flew downrange and slammed into the gelatinous torso of an Ursa with a wet _thud_. Pyrrha flew through the air at a Beowulf, her foot finding its throat and launching her backwards into an acrobatic flip. She landed on one knee, arm extended upwards, with one hand down to brace herself.

"Sweet!" Yang ruled.

"That _was_ impressive," admitted Weiss.

Pyrrha gave them a small smile by way of thanks and turned to retrieve her weapons. There was a moment of silence as each girl in RWBY tried to figure out how to approach her.

Ruby immediately realized that, as team leader, it should be her job to make the first move. She still didn't know how. Right. Awkward conversation it was, then. Maybe Yang would rescue her and they could all move on from there.

"Um, Pyrrha?" asked Ruby hesitantly, sidling up to the girl as she pulled Akuo out of the Ursa dummy. "Why do you always land like that?"

Pyrrha blinked and stared at her for a moment. "Like - " she started, her voice cracking. She cleared her throat, shook her head, and tried again. "Like what?"

"Oh, you know, " Ruby waved her arm in the air. "With your shield all...up and stuff."

"Oh!" Pyrrha laughed softly, the sound echoing in the training room. Blake and Yang exchanged glances. Laughter was…promising. It sounded a little forced, but that was still better than no laughter at all.

"It's just habit, I suppose," she shrugged. "When I was in training for the tournaments, my instructors would always tell me not to use my shield arm to catch myself." She raised her left arm to show Ruby. "Do you see how my hand doesn't reach beyond the edge of the shield?"

"Yeah..." Ruby said doubtfully.

"If I tried to catch myself with that hand, there's a chance that the shield edge would skid backwards on the floor and break my arm."

Weiss shuddered. "How about not?" she said feelingly.

Pyrrha smiled again. "I would raise my arm in training to remind myself not to use it when I fell, and over time it got to be a habit. Also..." she looked bashful. "The judges don't _technically_ give you points for style, but..."

" _Pyrrha!_ " Yang exclaimed with delight. "You _manipulated_ the judges?"

"No, no, nothing like that!" Pyrrha waved her hands in front of her. "It's just...sometimes, if both you and your opponent ran out of aura, the winner would be decided by the judges, and -"

"You _totally_ gamed the judges." Yang interrupted happily.

"No!" Pyrrha protested. "It wasn't against the rules, and we all did it, so it wasn't an unfair advantage!"

Yang smirked and pointed at Pyrrha. "Hey, say what you like, but you were definitely working the system."

Weiss scoffed and raised a hand to inspect perfectly trimmed nails. "A good huntress should use whatever advantages are available to her."

"Yeah, you _would_ say that, Princess."

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"It means that...hey, wait a minute, two against one's not fair! Blake, back me up!"

The three girls turned to look at the faunus, who was leaning against the wall watching the exchange in silent amusement. She pushed herself upright and sauntered over to them.

"I think," Blake paused and looked at Yang. "I think that Weiss is right."

Yang staggered back and clutched her heart in mock agony. "Blake! You were supposed to be my partner!"

Weiss tossed her hair back with a satisfied expression. "She simply knows who has the superior side."

Yang opened her mouth to retort, but staggered suddenly as Ruby shot over and latched herself onto her sister's arm.

"Yaaang! It's twelve."

The blonde girl looked down at her sibling and furrowed her eyebrows.

"Yeah, so?"

"Yaaaaannnggg." Ruby whined.

"Fine, fine." Yang laughed. "Come on, guys, who's up for lunch?"

"There's a Menagerian place Blake knows about," Weiss explained to Pyrrha.

Pyrrha hesitated, "I don't know. I may just go back -"

"You are _not_ going back to your room." Yang interrupted. "Not allowed."

Pyrrha looked to the side, uncertainty written on her face. Ruby disengaged herself from Yang and grabbed Pyrrha's hand with both of her own.

"Pyrrha, please?" she begged. "It'll be fun!"

The girl looked around at the encouraging smiles and expectant looks of her friends, and then gave in, sighing. "Sure."

Yang nodded. "Coolio! Let's go, there's a shuttle in fifteen. Weiss can change, then meet us at the station to pick up the lunch tab."

"Hey!"

Blake watched Weiss and Yang bicker as they walked towards the door, a small smile playing on her lips. That had worked well. Her friends were certainly not all back to normal, certainly, but if there was one thing she had learned over the past two years it was that healing was a gradual process.

For now, it was enough that they were together. Especially because there was a fish in a nearby restaurant with her name on it.

* * *

 **Hi, guys and gals! This is all pretty much transitional - we've got Jaune where we want him, so now we get to set the stage for bigger things. In this universe, the Vytal Festival is happening in Vacuo, which frees up several things for later in the story. Let me know what you think about that first half. I'm not entirely happy with it. Too choppy, maybe? I don't know.**

 **On a brighter note, I love writing Weiss and Yang. They're so much fun! All of RWBY is fun to write, though. I also spent a bunch of time planning out the story, so I've got a very clear of where we're going now. Happy reading! As always, I will never abandon a story.**

 **Much love to you all,**

 **Anthologion**


	5. The Life of a Huntsman

Qrow stood at the edge of the landing pad and regarded his apprentice. That morning marked his second day outside of the major cities, and as far as he could see Jaune was handling things surprisingly well. He had expected a degree of angst or homesickness the night before, something to indicate that he wasn't handling the transition with ease, but there had been nothing. For all appearances, Jaune was determined to make the best of his new life. Still, it was early days yet, and he would be watching.

The awkward lines and rusted sides of a large, clunky airship rose on the landing pad behind him. The engines were huge, easily taking up half of the craft – a clear indication that it was an obsolete model. His eyes swept critically up the fuselage to the flaking serial number beneath the cockpit windows. Former military, probably Mistralian, pre-Faunus War. In this case, also a good learning opportunity; Jaune would never need to know things like the finer abstractions of aura theory, but a basic knowledge of military equipment was useful in their line of work.

"Hey."

Jaune grunted a response, apparently not fully awake yet.

"What can you tell me about that?" He inclined his head at the ship.

His apprentice glowered at the machine for a few seconds. "It's an airship," he said distastefully.

When Qrow remained disapprovingly silent, Jaune sighed and looked again. "I mean…it's old?" He scratched his head and stifled a yawn. "I honestly don't know what you're going for here."

"You want to be a Huntsman, right? Eighty percent of the job is noticing things." Qrow responded, still gazing at the ship. "Give me six months and I can teach you to fight, but learning to _notice_ instead of just seeing…that takes a lifetime." He looked briefly at Jaune before returning again to the airship. "So you might as well start now."

He gestured to the ship. "You said it was old, and you're right. The size of those engines means pre-modern injector technology, so it was built before the Faunus War. Repairs will be difficult if it breaks, so you shouldn't rely on it for a hunt."

Jaune nodded, his mind trying desperately to free itself from the thick gunk of sleep. He knew about the new injectors - everyone did, since it was the new engines that had allowed Atlas to gain complete air superiority over the Faunus forces and end the war - but he hadn't thought to apply it.

"The serial number prefix on the side makes it military," Qrow continued, warming to the lecture. "Atlas doesn't sell military equipment to civilians, Vacuo runs theirs into the ground in the service, and Vale re-paints their ships before they sell them, so it's probably Mistralian. Mistralian designs can usually handle both heat and cold better than most, but-"

A voice rang out over the chatter, cutting off Qrow's lesson. "Load up!"

The miners immediately began to move to the airship and clamber into the cargo hold, jostling each other good-naturedly.

Qrow went to join the crush, but had the presence of mind to glance backwards to make sure Jaune was following him. He found the boy standing in place, staring warily at the ship.

Qrow almost felt sorry for him, but settled on mild amusement. Jaune would feel miserable for the next hour or so, but no one ever said growth was easy. "Hey, kid." He gestured at the airship and deadpanned, "All aboard."

Jaune groaned.

Qrow walked up to the ship and jumped into the cargo bay with the other miners. He looked expectantly at Jaune, who looked sadly back at the walls before moving reluctantly to join him.

The two were quickly enveloped in the crowd as the ship lifted off. Qrow jostled for shoulder space with the other passengers and allowed himself a brief moment to enjoy the crush. _This_ was Hunting. Pride, decorum, and fighting be damned; the people were the true heart of the job.

He wedged himself against the bulkhead where a curved metal beam formed part of the skeleton of the ship. The strut didn't allow for any more standing room, but having a piece of metal pressing into your back was preferable to an elbow.

Once his own position established, he looked around for Jaune. His hapless apprentice was jammed against the opposite side of the ship, shoulders twisted uncomfortably to make room for the giant of a man beside him. It might have been the light that made his face look green, but the boy's expression made it evident that he was miserable.

Qrow was apparently not the only one who noticed this. A woman's voice to his right shouted, "O'Duinn!" The massive man next to Jaune looked around and apparently saw a gesture, for he turned quickly to look at Jaune. He smiled massively and clapped a heavy hand to Jaune's back. "Make way, lads!" he called, "We've got a fish."

A rumble of laughter echoed around the hold, and, amazingly, a path appeared from Jaune to the door at the back of the ship. It was, Qrow thought with a grin, maybe a _bit_ of a stretch to call him a fish, but the way Jaune's mouth opened and closed as he breathed deeply to stave off motion sickness did bear a certain resemblance to the animal. Jaune stumbled gratefully towards the hatch, aided by an encouraging shove from O'Duinn, where he leaned against the bulkhead and breathed in the fresher air that whistled through the open door.

A short, bumpy ride later, they touched down in a small clearing in the mountain range that stretched east of the town. The mouth of the mines was in a small valley, unremarkable save for its inaccessibility; no roads ran in or out of it, nor indeed could they, for the mountains that rose on all sides prevented access to the valley from all but an airship or a hiker. A second airship sat in the clearing, a much newer model designed specifically for dust transport. Qrow noticed with displeasure that it bore the Schnee emblem blazoned proudly on its side.

The miners filed out of the hold onto the packed earth of the landing pad to the shouts of greeting from those who had already arrived. Qrow paused before he left, using the height of the cargo deck to look for Jaune. The boy was bent over near the edge of the crowd with his hands on his knees, breathing heavily.

He hopped down to the ground and made his way over, grabbing Jaune's arm and pulling him upright. The first step to curing the airsickness was for the boy to stop expecting to feel sick, and that meant he needed to stop behaving as if he was. Jaune whined in protest but remained standing. He motioned for him to follow, and made his way towards the entrance to the mine.

* * *

Jaune took one last, steadying gulp of air and moved to follow Qrow, thanking his stars that the ride was short. He was much better about airsickness than when he arrived at Beacon, but he still didn't do well with longer trips. The bobbing and shifting of the airships always got to him in the end.

The entrance to the mine was a dark, circular hole torn into the side of the mountain. A cold, constant breeze blew from it as they approached. Qrow grabbed a pair of dingy white hard hats from a rack near the opening and tossed one over to Jaune as they passed.

Jaune flipped it around in his hands, searching for the switch to activate the headlamp mounted on the front. A small bulge on the top of the light seemed promising, so he pressed it. Light flooded out of the bulb, blinding him. He made an inarticulate noise of protest and jerked the helmet away from his face.

A purple and blue afterimage floated lazily in front of his eyes, only partially obscuring Qrow's grin and doing nothing to drown out his snort of amusement. Jaune huffed and jammed the helmet onto his head. _Stupid light._ His fingers tugged at the straps until they ran comfortably beneath his chin, and then turned his attention to the rock they were passing by.

The mine main shaft of the mine (at least, he assumed it was the main shaft) ran deep into the ground, back into the mountain and down. The walls bore the sweeping striations of whatever great wheel had ground away the stone. Small pebbles clattered away from their feet as they walked and sent echoes dancing down stone walls of the passage. Occasional pockets and cracks in the rock suggested that the path they walked might once have been a smaller, natural passage since widened by man.

Jaune peered up at one particularly long crack that slipped up through the roof of the tunnel into the heart of the mountain. Just how much weight lay above him right now, how many tons of rock? He immediately shook his head to clear that though away. There were some things that were better not to dwell on.

The floor flattened out and the walls fell away to each side to form a wide, low-ceilinged chamber. Floodlights hanging from screws in the ceiling bathed the area in a harsh light that sent dark shadows skittering across the uneven stone floor. Several pillars of stone had been left standing at regular intervals, probably to prevent the ceiling from collapsing on them. The closest pillar backed a small table that sagged with the weight of age and stacks of papers and charts. A cluster of men stood around it, pointing at maps and talking amongst themselves.

Their footsteps echoed off of the walls as they entered. A few heads looked up at the noise, and one man broke off from the group to bound swiftly over to them.

"Branwen!" he cried in a deep voice, pulling Qrow into a bear hug and thumping him on the back.

"Hey, watch the cape!" Qrow complained, extricating himself gingerly from the man's grasp.

The man scoffed. "Like that raggedy thing could get any more torn."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Qrow dismissed. "Listen, I need a favor. I'm showing the ropes to the kid here," he motioned to Jaune, "and I want him to learn the basics of the mines. Can you show him around, maybe teach him a bit?"

The man grinned, the white flash of his teeth made all the brighter by the darkness of his skin. "I'd be glad to." He faced Jaune and took his hand in a quick, firm shake. "Name's Jasper Henry. I run the mine here. Spent some time hauling freight for the military, too, but took an…early…retirement." He winked conspiratorially. "Qrow and I go way back. You picked a good man to follow."

Jaune nodded politely and tried not to let his own misgivings show. He wasn't excited to be attached to a deserter for the day, even if he was a friend of Qrow's.

Jasper nodded, then turned back to Qrow. "I got a feeling you're not coming."

The Hunter waved his hand and scoffed. "See one mine, seen 'em all. Besides, I've got stuff to do." He dropped his voice suddenly. "Find me when you get back to town; I need to talk to you."

'Yeah, sure." He looked at Qrow curiously, but the man proffered no explanation. Instead, he hit the side of his fist lightly against Jasper's arm by way of thanks and turned to make his way back down the tunnel towards the airships.

"So!" Jasper boomed. "What do you want to know about Dust mining?"

* * *

Jaune followed the older man through the subterranean maze of twists and turns, trying desperately to remember a veritable flood of information.

"…Dust in two forms, okay? There's crystalline dust, which is…well, _crystals_ , and microcrystalline dust, which is more like powder."

He listened intently. This was stuff he already knew, but somehow it was so much more interesting now than when he had to listen to a lecture.

"Most of what we have here is crystalline, but there's some microcrystal veins around if you look for them. Crystals are easier to harvest and more profitable. You find microcrystals mixed in with the rock - looks kinda like glitter. Hard to mine, and hard to purify. We don't bother with it."

Jasper suddenly flattened himself against the wall to avoid two burly men pushing a cart bearing stacks of hard, silver cases, and Jaune followed his lead. The rumble of metal wheels on metal tracks crescendoed until his teeth shook against each other before receding down the corridor towards what he thought was the entrance. He looked to Jasper for an explanation. The man continued down the path without comment, and out of a vague desire not to appear ignorant Jaune didn't ask.

The miner pointed towards a side passage where a yellow conveyor belt rumbled steadily, carrying a lumpy stream of debris. "That way is all exploration. There's a continuous miner - looks like an oversized, spiky rolling pin - that breaks up the rock. Rock falls onto a chain conveyer, gets broken up smaller and passed up and out to the debris piles outside."

"How do you know where to dig?"

"Aahhh…" Jasper rubbed his chin and stared off at the passing wall. "That's a short question with a long answer. I'll show you later if you want."

Jaune remained silent. He wasn't _that_ interested in the detailed workings of mining, or even in mining at general. If he was lucky, they would both forget about it and he could go and do some real training, like fighting Qrow again. Sure, he had gotten whipped last time, but he knew he could do better.

The walls of the tunnel had changed to a dull, changeless grey, without the natural pits and pockets that had lined the entrance. At intervals, arches made of thick metal girders were bolted in place to support the ceiling. To Jaune, they spoke far less of protection and security than of the immanent collapse of an entire mountain upon their heads. There was nothing beautiful about them, none of the grace or solid seamlessness of natural rock formations. They were thick and blocky, mere matchsticks of metal to hold back the massive pile of stone around them from burying them all in a swift and ugly death.

The passage ran through the rock, sometimes turning suddenly to the left or right, always leading down, deeper and deeper underground. Jasper no longer spoke, so they walked in a silence that skirted along the line between awkward and unremarkable. The rumble of engines and wheels echoed from distant passages, marked in time by the uneven tap of their footsteps. Jaune found himself grateful that he didn't have to come here every day - the lack of sunlight and oppressive sameness of the rock made him uncomfortable.

At last, Jasper stopped before a switchback in the tunnel and turned to face him. His bright smile caught Jaune off guard, and he quickly looked around to see what he had missed.

"You ready for this?"

"Ready for what?" Jaune returned guardedly.

"Dust crystals."

With that, he turned and walked around the corner. Jaune followed him down a short stretch and suddenly emerged in a large natural chamber. He stood, slack-jawed, all thoughts of being underground and bored and even remotely uncomfortable wiped from his mind.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Jaune responded softly. 'Amazing' was a hopelessly inadequate description - it was magical, fantastic, unbelievable. The walls and ceiling were encrusted with the sparkling structures. The crystals caught the light, threw it back on itself, tossed it playfully around the room to throw patterns on the floor in a way that almost made him feel as if he were underwater. A trough of running water ran around the circumference of the room, the tinkling sound only adding to the effect. The floor, unlike the drilled stone of the tunnels, was covered in a thick red-brown mud that squelched and sucked against his shoes as he walked, mesmerized, into the center of the chamber.

" _How_?" he asked.

"No one knows," Jasper chuckled. "Some say it took thousands of years of growth, and some say it can happen in a decade. No one can say for sure."

He shot Jaune a delighted grin.

"Want to learn how to harvest one?"

Jaune brought himself back to the realms of conscious thought with difficulty. "Maybe?" What he meant was, 'As long as you won't blow us to pieces'. Dust mine explosions were disasters on an almost legendary scale, made all the more infamous by their rarity. He had no desire to go down in history as one of those unfortunate few who were disintegrated by the vast power they accidentally unleashed.

Jasper led Jaune to stand before the trough, facing the wall. A hose ran up from the floor on his right and hooked over the lip of the trough. A small hammer and chisel hung on rawhide straps next to it.

"The most basic step is cooling off the crystals." He took up the hose and squeezed the handle. A white cloud shot out of the end with a hollow _whoosh_ , splashing over the wall in vortices and eddies that looked oddly like water. The air around them took on a distinct chill, and Jaune was sure he heard the rock began to crack and pop.

"Colder crystals are less likely to explode when you hit 'em. No idea why," Jasper confided. "That's above my pay grade. Works, though."

Jaune immediately thought of a day in Beacon in Dust Mechanics. He didn't pay any attention in that class as a general rule - not that he didn't try to, but there's only so much a guy can do when a class is _that_ boring. Some things stuck, though, among them the knowledge that cold things didn't react as well, and that was why ice dust was good for storing unstable mixtures of dust types. Honestly, he only remembered that because he had thought that it explained why Weiss wouldn't go out with him - if she always behaved too coldly to react, they would obviously have no chemistry. There had been an intricate plan to get her to a spa, but that had never panned out for reasons that escaped him.

"What you really have to watch out for is the chips that fly off. Too much buildup and you're just asking for an explosion."

Jaune examined the ground around him quickly.

" 'Course," Jasper said thoughtfully, "it wouldn't be a _big_ explosion. Take your eyebrows off, maybe land you in the hospital for a few, but nothing too bad."

"What's _bad_ , then?" Jaune asked nervously.

"Anything over a week and a half," was the prompt reply. Jasper shrugged carelessly as he hung the hose in its place. "That doesn't happen too much, though. It's why we've got the troughs. Most of the big stuff falls in the water and gets filtered out downstream. What's left is scraped off the floor at the end of the shift."

He took the hammer one hand and the chisel in the other, positioning the chisel next to the base of one of the larger crystals with practiced hands. "When you strike, don't strike too hard, ok? If the crystal's unstable, has cracks or whatever, it can explode."

 _Okay_ , thought Jaune, feeling a bit better about his prospects. _I can do gentle_.

"Of course, you can't strike too soft, or you'll just crack the crystal. That makes your second strike more dangerous, more likely to set off an explosion."

…Really, between Qrow, airships, and dust explosions, it would be a miracle if he survived the week. _And the Grimm_ , he thought morbidly. _Can't forget about them._

"Then, you just…" Jasper screwed his eyes shut and brought the hammer down on the butt of the chisel. There was a bright flash of light, a loud _crack_ , and a splash of water. The man opened his eyes and fished a blue crystal from the trough.

"There she is," he said proudly. "The ones in this mine are almost all blue crystals. There's a few green, but it doesn't make up much of the load."

He looked down at Jaune's dazed stare. "Look away when you strike," he advised unnecessarily. "It'll blind you."

"…Right."

"Want to try?" He flipped the chisel around and proffered it to Jaune.

"I'd…rather not?" Jaune replied warily, backing away from the tools. "I don't want to…ya know…blow everyone up."

Jasper furrowed his brow. "Didn't I say that you won't? In this part of the mine, you'll just lose your eyebrows. There's not enough dust here to start a chain reaction."

Jaune shook his head resolutely. No hospitals, no hair burning, and noexplosions, thank you _very_ _little_.

"Well, if you're sure." He held the crystal out to Jaune. "Souvenir for you."

Jaune took it from him and stared at it. Long as his hand and two fingers thick, it was heavier than he expected, all smooth planes and sharp angles tapering from the rough base to a glimmering point. He could see his hand through the crystal, magnified and tinted blue in the light from his headlamp. What was he going to do with it? He wasn't Weiss or Nora - dust just wasn't a part of his arsenal. Still, he didn't want to be rude, so he shoved it in his pocket to deal with later.

"That's the easiest part, really. We dig until we open a deposit, knock out the crystals, and grind up anything that's left. Most of the job is knowing how to operate machinery or where and how to dig, and that isn't something I can teach you in a day, or even a month."

Jaune looked around at the shimmering walls again, then back to the miner. "So what now?"

Jasper did not respond, and for a moment Jaune believed he had not heard. Just as he opened his mouth, the man replied, "Now we go find Qrow. I've got something that you should probably know about, but I want to show him too."

As they began to climb up the long slope of the tunnel, Jaune attempted to pry out more about this "something" they were going to see. Try as he might, Jasper steadfastly refused to provide more information, saying only that it would be better for him to see for himself. Jaune quickly chose to use his breath for breathing rather than talking. He was undoubtedly in good shape - in great shape, even - but the steady uphill trek was eliciting an undeniable burning from his thighs. He would have _sworn_ that the cave wasn't this far down.

They entered the main chamber at last to find a circle of men gathered around a small forklift-like vehicle. Shouts of encouragement and advice mixed together with the rumble of the engine to echo from the walls in a cacophonous whirl of sound. The driver of the vehicle was evidently unskilled, for the machine jerked and spasmed like a landed fish as it tried to insert a vertical pole into small hole in the ground. Eventually, to the delight of the assembled crowd, it caught and slid into the hole. A hydraulic press whirred into action to telescope the pole upwards and press it into the ceiling.

Jasper joined in the round of applause and congratulatory catcalls that followed. He leaned over to Jaune and yelled, "That's a pillar bolter! It puts up a temporary pillar that gives you time to bolt in a permanent arch that can support the ceiling."

The door on the side of the bolter popped open to reveal Qrow's lanky frame bundled into the small cabin. He sprang out of the cabin with a laugh, sketched a bow, and went to meet the spectators in a flurry of hugs and pats on the back.

"Is that hard?" Jaune asked skeptically, not entirely willing to believe that Qrow was an expert miner as well as Hunter.

"What?" Jasper tore his attention away from the scene before him. "At first, maybe, but every man here knows how to do it. They're just having a bit of fun teaching him."

Now that the entertainment was over, the crowd began to break up. Miners trooped off in twos and threes towards different sections of tunnel. Qrow quickly spotted them and strode over.

"Did you watch that?" he asked with a grin.

"Yeah, I saw that mess," ribbed Jasper. "We'll make a miner out of you yet, though, don't worry."

"I won't. What's up? Did you finish the tour already?"

Jasper shook his head. "Wanted to show you something." He headed toward one of the smaller tunnels that lined the room, effectively cutting off further conversation. Qrow raised his eyebrows at Jaune as they followed, who shrugged to indicate his ignorance.

The tunnel took a sharp turn to the right scarcely twenty paces beyond the main chamber. Jasper turned the corner and stopped, facing them.

"Listen." He began, his voice low and serious. "Qrow, I'm telling you this because I trust you, and because it's better that you know. I need you to keep it close, okay? As far as most of the workers are concerned this is an abandoned exploratory shaft, and for right now it's safer that way."

"Fine." Qrow said immediately.

Jasper looked towards Jaune, then back at Qrow.

"He'll keep his mouth shut." Qrow promised.

"Good." Jasper took a deep breath and blew it out through puffed cheeks. "When the Schnee Company paid for the new walls, we gave them exclusive rights to buy the dust here in the mine. We get physical safety, they get economic safety, everyone's happy."

" _What_?" Qrow was incredulous. "The dust here is worth twenty times the cost of that wall!"

"Sure, but no one else would send the equipment to build it this far out." Jasper shrugged and resumed walking. "We needed the wall, and they approached us with the offer. At any rate, we were digging a few months ago, just a small shaft to check out a larger cave on one of the scans. It was near the surface, so we didn't think we'd find anything."

"And you did." Jaune guessed.

"We did, but I can't explain it." He brushed aside a tarp that read, "DO NOT ENTER" and ducked beneath it.

Jaune and Qrow followed, emerging at the base of a long vertical shaft that ran straight upwards. An elevator was fitted to the walls, a solid industrial affair of steel pipe and diamond-patterned steel plate. Jasper was already on the platform, fitting a key that hung around his neck into a small control box. As soon as they joined him, he pressed a button and they began to crawl upwards. A loud droning hum and the rattling of the contraption as it ascended made conversation impossible, so Jaune occupied himself by counting the seconds that passed as they rose. Two minutes elapsed before he gave up and turned instead to finding patterns in the surrounding rock. They must be deep in the mountain now, he imagined. The only way they could rise this high was if the shaft ran through the core, either up to the top or near to it.

They jerked to a halt a few lengths before the shaft ended, right at the entrance to a new tunnel. The air here was warmer than below. It carried the smell of wetness and growing things, and wrapped around them with the pressure of humidity. Jaune followed Qrow and Jasper from the elevator and down the tunnel. The walls bore beaded droplets of water that merged and ran down in trickles to a damp stone floor.

Jaune saw the end of the tunnel ahead, illuminated with the soft, unmistakable glow of natural light. A cool wave of relief swept over him. Getting out from under this mountain would be the best thing that happened to him all day.

Just as they reached the exit, Qrow leapt backwards into Jaune with a cry of alarm.

Jasper immediately turned and held out a placating hand.

"It's fine, it's safe!" he said soothingly.

"What are you _doing_?" hissed Qrow incredulously. Jaune dropped a steadying hand from Qrow's back and looked out of the tunnel.

The roof soared upwards to a peak where a large hole gaped in the roof. Motes of dust drifted down in the sunbeams that streamed through the opening, shining brightly in the light. The floor was blanketed with a thick carpet of moss. Ferns unfurled everywhere in cracks that held pockets of dirt, fed by the water that glistened on the rock and pooled in shallow depressions worn down by years of erosion. It was a peaceful sight, and one that Jaune would have even found relaxing, were it not for the dust.

Twice as broad as he and many times as tall, they were the largest crystals he had ever seen, or even heard of. No moss or vine would grow on them, for they stood free of both, refracting the light that fell from above outwards in a clear, blue glow. One monolith had fallen and rolled in pieces to sit in a grouping not fifteen paces from their feet, leaving a pitted stump to mark the spot where it used to tower. The rest remained intact, the thick needles stabbing upwards towards the roof.

Jaune was suddenly very conscious of the way his heart beat behind his chest and of how he had to pull the air into his lungs to breathe. He wanted to be far away from here, and from the look on Qrow's face, he wasn't the only one.

"It's safe." Jasper repeated.

"Want to explain how you know that?" Qrow asked testily.

"I can't, but if you'll follow me, I'll take you to someone who can."

Qrow acquiesced begrudgingly, and the three walked out into the cavern. The wall looped back to their left to form what could almost be considered another room. Unlike the rest of the cavern, it had been cleaned and leveled at some point. A number of tables sat around the periphery, bearing everything from microscopes and computers to small picks and drills. There was only one person in the room, a small woman in a yellow jumpsuit who had turned in her seat to watch the entrance curiously. She rose to her feet as they entered.

"Hello, Jasper," she beamed, walking over to give him a hug. "Why the visit? Not that you need a reason."

He gave her an affectionate squeeze, then gestured to Qrow and Jaune. "Qrow's knocking around here for a while, and I figured this is something he would want to know about. This is Jaune, his apprentice. Jaune, this is Aria, our resident dust expert."

Aria gave Jasper an unreadable look, and he added, "They're not going to tell anyone."

That news seemed to relax her, and she briskly shook hands with both of them.

"So what's going on here?" asked Qrow.

"A new kind of crystal," she said simply. "It's still blue dust, but the crystal structure is like nothing we've seen before."

Aria moved to a nearby table and picked up a crystal the size of her thumb. She gave a mischievous grin, then raised it above her head and threw it down at the ground.

Jaune jumped backwards with a shout of alarm, an action mirrored by Qrow. The moment passed, and they both stared, astonished, for instead of detonating, the crystal shattered to bits with a crash not unlike glass.

"It's _stable_!" Aria said with relish.

Jaune frowned. What was the use of stable dust? It was interesting, he supposed, but the entire point of dust was that it could be used as an energy source. It was unstable by nature. Without that, red dust wouldn't explode, yellow dust wouldn't provide electricity, and blue dust wouldn't freeze. It was useless.

Qrow was apparently having similar thoughts. He regarded the shattered remnants of the crystal with mistrust. "Why get excited about that? You can't sell it."

"Shipping!" she cried, and began to pace excitedly. "We can grow dust crystals back from microcrystalline "powder" - we've been able to do that for years. If I can figure out how to grow this structure of crystal, we can ship as much of it as we want with virtually no danger."

"And then grind it up and re-grow it in the active form at the destination," finished Qrow. He gave her an impressed look. "Smart."

"Thank you," she said graciously. "But that is why I need you to keep this to yourselves. If Schnee finds out, he'll send his own people to investigate. The researchers there are _much_ more famous than I am, and if they come then they will get all the credit." She gave them a pleading look. "This could make my career."

"Hey, hey," Qrow held up his hands. "We're not telling anyone. I'm just glad you told us. It's good to know in case something happens."

Jasper nodded fervently. "I can't be around all the time, and I know you can't either, but this way more of us can keep an ear out for any trouble. Aria and I have the only keys up here, but still, you never know. Someone could get a lot of money for leaking this to the company."

"Or the military." Aria added. "This could revolutionize how weapons-grade dust is stored."

"Well, we don't want that," Qrow said absently. "Who helped transport the equipment up here?"

"We brought it up ourselves," Aria answered. "Jasper opened the cave with a three-man team, but I trust all of them. Still, someone might start to wonder why I go into an 'abandoned' exploration shaft so often."

"I'll get you the names," Jasper promised.

Qrow nodded. "Good." He looked towards Jaune. "What do you think?"

Jaune started, surprised that his input was being sought. "I, uh," he stammered. He raised a hand to scratch the back of his head automatically, then found his footing. "I think that someone is going to notice eventually, and that there needs to be an explanation when they do."

"You want to lie to them?" Jasper asked in a curiously flat voice. Jaune felt a small rush of embarrassment, but shook his head.

"It's not that I _want_ to lie," he said. "But it's just a matter of time before something happens."

He paused for a moment and thought. "You could say it was dangerous to come up here because of dust deposits, and that Aria is studying it to see how to move forward," he suggested. "That way you're not lying outright, but people will still stay away."

The foreman nodded slowly, then turned to Qrow and jerked his thumb towards Jaune. "Your kid thinks like you do," he observed, before wandering into the larger chamber.

Qrow snorted in amusement and followed him, leaving Jaune standing there in irritation. Seriously, why did everyone call him 'kid'? And he wasn't _Qrow's_ kid. He was his own…not-a-kid. Person. Yeah, his own person.

"Hey, kid," Qrow's voice called from the larger chamber. "As much as I would love to stay here all day, I wouldn't."

Aaand there it was. He looked at Aria. "I…guess I'll see you around."

"It was nice meeting you," she said graciously.

He gave an awkward wave and hurried out of the antechamber after Qrow. He had no desire to stay underground longer than he needed to.

* * *

They flew back towards Silver Falls on the same transport that had carried them that morning. The cargo bay was now packed with stacks of hard-shell crates containing dust crystals buried in exorbitant amounts of foam padding, so they had crammed themselves into the cockpit instead.

The glass and metal around them shook from the unsteady roaring of geriatric engines. It was loud even through the headset nestled over his ears - evidently there was some kind of noise insulation for the hold that the cockpit didn't have. Jaune watched the pilot flip switches and nudge levers with the interest born of total ignorance. He had no idea what the woman was doing, but it looked awesome.

The airship dropped over the top of the mountain range and flew over the flat plain that stretched between the city and the peaks. They were only a few hundred feet from the ground, close enough to make out the clumps of grasses that waved in the wash of the engines. Jaune took one glance outside and then kept his eyes firmly glued on the console. It kept his sickness at bay if he focused hard enough.

"Qrow." The pilot's voice sounded scratchily from in his headset. "We've got a follower. Can you take care of it?"

Qrow leaned forwards in his seat to peer at the small screens that held the rear-facing camera displays. He looked up to sweep the terrain between them and the city, then back down. "Go ahead and land at the walls," he ordered. "I need to see if he's bringing friends."

He tapped Jaune on the shoulder to get his attention. "There's a Boarbatusk that decided to follow us home. Get your mind right. We're fighting when we land."

Jaune nodded tightly and began to breathe deeply to push the nausea as far away as possible. Fighting was difficult enough when he was ready for it, and coming off of an airship only made it more difficult. One of the first lessons that was beaten into any Hunter was the importance of controlling your emotions in a fight. Grimm tended to attack the most emotionally compromised members of a group, so the less emotion you felt the less likely it was that you would be singled out.

His body pushed forwards into the safety webbing as the ship began to slow in preparation for landing. Qrow pulled the clasp to release his harness and staggered to the pilot's door. A long, red lever ran across it at waist height, marked with EMERGENCY in white block letters. He wrenched it upwards. The door shot open, completely detaching from the craft to fall to the ground below. A steady buzz came from the alarm system on the console, almost lost in the roar of the engines and the howl of the wind that now whipped through the cabin. Squinting his eyes against the tempest, Jaune wondered detachedly what engineer had thought that the pilot wouldn't notice that the door to the cabin had just _fallen off_.

The ship slowed to a halt and began to lower itself onto the landing pads. Jaune ripped his own harness off and stumbled to stand beside Qrow. He unclipped Crocea Mors from his belt, but left it sheathed. The small slice of the world visible from the doorway contained no Grimm that he could see. His lips thinned. It would be much better if he could see where the Boarbatusk was coming from, how close it was, how large it was.

The instant the ship touched down, Qrow leapt from the ship and sprinted back along the landing pads the way they had come, Jaune close on his heels. They both scanned frantically for the creature. It was still several hundred lengths away, but closing the distance steadily with a single-minded determination.

When he saw it, Qrow visibly relaxed and allowed his sword to point at the ground. He gestured towards the charging Grimm with his free hand. "Show me what you got."

Jaune swallowed hard and moistened his lips. Just like an exercise in Port's class, then. He had killed Grimm then ( _one Grimm_ , a voice in his head reminded him, _and more by accident than skill_ ), so he could do it now. He breathed deeply, willing his emotions to be a neutral as possible. The weight of Crocea Mors in his hand was comfortable, more out of familiarity than any kind of bond with the sword, but that was as good as he expected.

The theory for how to deal with a charging Boarbatusk was easy; knock it down and stab it in the soft, unarmored underbelly. Methods of knocking it down varied, but shield-fighters like him usually depended on a quick shove or deflection. Boarbatusks were fast, but they were not at all stable.

He stepped forwards and shifted his weight to his toes, ready for the quick side-step that preceded the reversal of direction and shove necessary to unbalance the beast. Qrow's sword caught the sunlight from the corner of his eye, giving him a swell of reassurance. If things went wrong, he had backup.

The Grimm thundered closer. It was big, he realized, larger even than some of the Ursae that prowled the woods of the Forever Fall. The armored plates that protected its head were chipped and stained, not the smooth, almost unnatural white of the Grimm he had fought before. A thin line of worry began to snake its way under his sternum. Qrow _would_ help him, right?

It was now scarcely a hundred lengths from him and showed no signs of slowing. Jaune shifted his shield uncomfortably. Could he block this charge? As large as that was, as fast as it was moving…it might be best to dodge the initial strike and try to follow up. The ground under his feet shook from the force of the Boarbatusk's hooves. Dodge it was, then.

He gathered his weight to throw himself out of the way, shifted his feet slightly to set up for the jump. 50 lengths…25 lengths…and…NOW! The Boarbatusk gored the air where Jaune had stood, but to no avail. His shoulder hit the ground, hard, as he dove out of the way.

He rolled to his feet and brought his sword around to face the threat. The Grimm was already slowing down, swinging back around to face him. Beady red eyes met wide blue, and at once Jaune stumbled to his knees. His breath rasped in his throat as he struggled to fill his lungs, to breathe air that was clotted with an overwhelming sense of _wrongness_. He stared at the boarbatusk, trying to make sense of the revulsion swelling within him. This thing looking back at him _didn't belong_. The grass underneath it looked sharper, the shadows darker, even the _air_ seemed to twist around it. A high, ragged, hateful squeal pierced the air as the creature charged again.

A small, rational voice inside him squeaked that it was a Grimm, nothing he hadn't seen before, before being buried by an immediate need to _run_. He staggered to his feet, blinded by sickness, aware that the _thing_ was getting closer. The need to be _away_ from here, from _it_ , was paramount. Just as he turned to flee, a strong hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around.

Jaune fell to the ground once more. He heard a squeal of cruel triumph, saw the flash of a blade. The shock jarred him from his fog enough to see the boarbatusk lying on its side with both front legs missing. It thrashed its head at Qrow to gore him, the new threat, the bigger danger it had not noticed, but to no end.

The lessons learned from dozens of classes sprang to mind, Professor Port's deep voice echoing from many miles away. "The belly, my boy, always the belly!" Jaune hefted Crocea Mors, still in his hand by some miracle, and dove at the crippled monster in desperation.

He rammed the blade into its stomach, just beneath the foreleg stump. A spray of blood, acrid and hot, spattered across his face. The hind legs kicked violently at him, so he ran it through again, and again, and again, until all movement ceased and his hands and arms were black with ichor and matted hair.

"Jaune!" A voice by his ear sounded, bringing him fully back to reality.

Jaune pushed off of the carcass beneath him and sat back. He looked up at Qrow in dismay.

"Qrow?" he asked. "What _was_ that?"

Qrow grimaced and held out his hand. " _That_ was what Grimm feel like." Jaune grabbed it and pulled himself to his feet.

The young man gave a choked, disbelieving laugh. "Feel like? What do you mean 'feel like'? I've fought creatures of Grimm before, back at Beacon, and we never felt anything like that."

"The Grimm you fought were juveniles," Qrow said curtly. "They were too young to put off an aura."

Jaune gave Qrow a strange look. "...Grimm don't have aura."

"Not like that, no." He shook his head impatiently. "Look, just...come on. I'll explain later. We need to get inside before more show up. Get yourself under control - you're putting out a pretty powerful signal right now."

Jaune took deep breaths as he followed Qrow through a smaller gate into Silver Falls. The gore on his arms was practically gone, fading into oblivion and memory. His fear had passed with it and left only bewilderment. He expected feelings of guilt, and as he waited for Qrow to bolt the door behind them he examined himself for them, but found none. Whatever _that_ had been, it was not something he could have expected. Nothing in his classes at Beacon had suggested anything like that feeling.

A long arm slung itself over his shoulder. "Well," Qrow observed conversationally. "That was interesting."

Jaune gave a reluctant laugh. _Interesting_ was one way of putting it. _A total disaster_ was another.

"Good job on the follow-up. That kind of reflex is exactly what we want."

"Thanks."

Qrow took him by the shoulders and turned him so they were looking eye to eye. "Don't feel bad, kid. You did nothing wrong - I was expecting something like that to happen, ok? And look at the bright side. You didn't die, so that's a success."

"It doesn't feel like one," Jaune confessed.

Qrow sighed. "No, it doesn't. But trust me, it's your first time facing a creature of Grimm. A real one, not the juveniles you had back at Beacon. 'Not dying' is an accomplishment."

"Yeah, I can't die before I talk to my team about all this," he joked weakly. "Pyrrha would kill me."

"All what?"

"Oh, you know," Jaune replied vaguely, waving his hands to indicate his general surroundings. "Getting expelled and training with you and fighting Grimm and everything."

" _You didn't tell them?_ " Qrow asked sharply.

"I - left them a note?" Jaune squeaked, thrown by his sudden change of behavior. "They weren't around, and we were in a hurry, and -"

Qrow closed his eyes and regained control of himself. " _Never_ assume that you'll get to talk to your team after you get back from a mission," he said gently. " _Never_." He whipped out his scroll and began to press and swipe across the screen.

Jaune rocked back on his heels defensively. What was he supposed to have done? They weren't around, and Qrow had only given him half an hour to prepare. He thought he had done well, all things considering.

The scroll rose to Qrow's ear. "Ozpin," he said almost instantly.

"…"

"No, we're safe. I want to talk to Arc's team."

"…"

"Yes, I'm -" he bit himself off. "Look, just get them, okay? All of them. Yeah, now would be nice."

He waited for a moment, and then pressed a button onscreen before handing the scroll at Jaune. "Talk. Find me when you're finished. Don't tell them where we are or what my mission is."

Jaune caught the device automatically as Qrow strode off towards the inn. It was a video call, he noticed. What was Qrow upset about? He had done what he had to do. It's not like he just ran off without a note at all. A nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that, until Qrow had come for him, leaving without a note was _exactly_ what he had been planning to do. He shoved that thought down. Maybe he had thought about it, and even planned for it, but in the end he _hadn't_. That was what counted, right?

The camera on the other end stared up at a ceiling packed with clock gears - Ozpin's office, probably. There was no sound or movement coming from the room, so he resumed his walk at a more leisurely pace.

' _Where would they be now?'_ he thought. It was a…Tuesday, so the team would be prepping for Goodwitch's - no, that was during the year. He realized with a sinking feeling that he really had no idea _what_ his team was doing now. It was a strange realization, one that made a small, stubborn lump form in his throat. He should know what his team - his ex-team, he reminded himself with a grimace - was doing.

Just as he entered the town square there was a whirl of movement from the camera, a sudden babble of sound that caught him off guard. Just as suddenly as it began, the view stabilized, and Jaune found himself looking into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

"Hello, Jaune."

His stomach lurched and a warm sensation pooled above his naval. He hadn't realized how much he missed that voice. Sweet, lilting, entrancingly musical, it was almost enough to make him forget that she could beat him to a pulp without really trying. Not that she would. Even when they were training, she was always disarmingly gentle, her fingers constantly reaching out to nudge here or reposition there.

"Pyrrha," he breathed.

The camera shook again as Pyrrha moved it away from her face, refocusing to reveal the rest of his team. Nora stood uncharacteristically still, and Ren bore a certain tightness around his mouth that told Jaune his friend was less than happy with him.

"Hey Nora, Ren," he said uncertainly.

"Well, he can say our names, anyway," Yang's sardonic drawl was unmistakable.

"Yang?" Jaune was surprised and touched. He hadn't expected her to be there.

"The one and only. Totally not helping your case, by the way." The girl in question moved to stand behind his team, followed by Ruby, Blake, and Weiss. His heart warmed at the sight. Of course Ruby would come. He hadn't expected Blake and Weiss, but it was good to see them regardless.

"Jaune, how are you? _Where_ are you?" Pyrrha asked impatiently, worried lines running across her brow.

"I'm fine," he replied, pushing the memory of the _feeling_ of the boarbatusk out of his head. They didn't need to know about that, right? "I like it a lot out here. There's no classwork and no schedule, so every day is different." He hesitated, then added, "I'm learning so much more than I ever did at Beacon. I…don't really miss it, honestly."

He noticed Pyrrha's eyes drop and hastened to reassure her. "I mean, I miss you guys, I do. It's just…" he trailed off, struggling for the right words.

"You wish we were there with you instead of the other way around," Ren supplied helpfully. He smiled at Jaune. "I know what you mean."

Jaune felt a rush of gratitude towards his friend. Ren had _always_ known what he meant. "How are you guys?" he asked, dodging the second question. He leaned against the side of the inn with his back to the square, covering the screen with his shadow so he could see.

Pyrrha shot him a dirty look to let him know that he had not, in fact, been as smooth as he thought, but she didn't press the point.

Nora, apparently deciding that she had gone long enough without talking, replied first. "Why didn't you say bye?" she asked, obviously upset.

Jaune sighed and shook his head. "I didn't have time," he tried to explain. "Qrow gave me half an hour to pack my stuff. You guys weren't around, so…" he shrugged. "I did my best."

"You didn't know beforehand?" Ren was surprised.

"No, he just…came in my room and told me that if I wanted to be a huntsman, I had half an hour to be at the docks."

"Oh." Pyrrha frowned at her feet, obviously processing this.

"I wanted to say goodbye, I really did," he repeated. "I just didn't have time."

There was a moment of silence.

"So how's Qrow?" Yang asked, trying to move on to something less tense. "Best uncle ever, am I right?"

Jaune laughed. "I mean, he's not my uncle, so…"

Yang blew out a puff of air. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, he's cool," Jaune admitted. "When he's not getting me up at the crack of dawn."

"He what." Ruby's flat, disbelieving voice matched the doubt on her face. "Uncle Qrow _never_ wakes up early when he's home!"

Jaune gave a half-laugh, half-groan. "Of course he doesn't."

"Nope." Ruby reassured him. "Sometimes he sleeps 'til _noon_."

The tantalizing thought of lazy mornings floated lazily though Jaune's mind before dissipating into nothingness. Of all the things that could happen while he was out here, sleeping late was the least likely.

"I don't think that's going to happen," he said ruefully. "That's Qrow's favorite time to run. To make _me_ run," he corrected.

"Jaune," Weiss interrupted curiously, peering closely at the screen. "Where are you?"

Jaune realized with a start that the Schnee statue was visible behind him. He turned quickly so his back faced the wall of the inn. "Nowhere."

"You have to be _somewhere_ ," Weiss pointed out impatiently.

"I…I can't tell you," he admitted. "Qrow told me not to."

Ruby opened her mouth to argue. "Jaune, you can't just expect us to…"

"I'm afraid he can, Miss Rose." Ozpin's voice broke into the conversation for the first time. "It is sometimes necessary for Hunters to keep their location secret. You would do well to remember that, particularly if you choose to take a contract with a government one day. Now, I am going to have to ask you all to wrap this up. I am glad that you have had the chance to talk, but this line is designed to be used for a limited time only."

Several of his friends glared at Ozpin, but acquiesced.

He swallowed. "I'll see you guys, ok? I'll write a letter, or call you when I can, or something."

"Goodbye, Jaune." Pyrrha said softly. His other friends chimed in, but he had eyes only for her, until the feed cut out and only black remained. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. It felt uncomfortably like a chapter in his life had just closed, only he hadn't finished reading it yet.

* * *

Team RWBY and the remnants of JNPR walked back to the dorms in a decidedly somber mood. Nothing was said other than some minor sniping between Weiss and Yang over whether to study or play when they got back to the room.

When they reached the doors to their building, however, it was Pyrrha who broke the silence.

"I think," she said quietly, "that I'm going to go for a walk."

Her friends exchanged wary looks. Blake nodded to reassure the others, and rubbed Pyrrha's shoulder lightly.

"Just let us know when you get back, okay?"

She nodded and left, her drape fluttering behind her as she walked.

Yang held the door to the dormitory open, and the friends filed inside. Ruby hung back, and when it was her turn to enter, whispered, "Do think she'll stay inside?"

Yang hesitated. Pyrrha wasn't likely to go outside without a partner, but even if she did, would it matter? No Grimm came within leagues of the school. It was suicide. Still, it couldn't hurt to be safe, right?

"Go," she whispered back. "I'll cover for you."

Ruby nodded and slipped off into the dusk. Her boots made little sound on the concrete sidewalks as she ran lightly along in search of Pyrrha. It was the work of a moment to locate her target. The older girl was wandering near the walls to the south, apparently unaware of anything around her.

The flat grounds let Ruby keep Pyrrha just barely in her sight. She felt like a creep, but she reasoned that she had to make sure. If she did it right, Pyrrha would never know, and if she did go outside Ruby could keep her safe. That was what team leaders did, after all.

Pyrrha's path lead her along the edge of Beacon's wall, away from the cliffs and towards the plains to the east. Whenever she passed a gateway, Ruby watched her closely and prayed, but she showed no inclination to leave the safety of Beacon.

The game of cat and mouse continued down the wall, all the way to the wall near the entrance. A series of smaller side gates were set into the wall, designed for smaller crowds that didn't require the size of the main gates. Pyrrha paused when she reached the first of these.

Ruby held her breath, mentally urging her not to go outside, not to take that risk. Seconds ticked by in silence, and when no move was made she decided the danger was passed. She scrubbed her eyes wearily, thanking the stars that her friend hadn't taken the risk. Maybe she would call it a night and go back to the dorm. There were cookies there, and tea. Or milk. She'd let Yang decide, and then drink the opposite choice.

The _click_ of the latch closing on the gate sounded through the warm air like a gunshot. Ruby was instantly on her feet. Adrenaline pumping, she dashed to the door and put her ear to it. She couldn't open it, not immediately, not until Pyrrha moved away.

She counted to fifteen, then onwards to thirty. She make it to twenty-five before her patience gave out and she cracked the door as quietly as she could. The meadow outside Beacon was quiet. The grass - cut short to preclude any Grimm attack - waved in the night breeze. Pyrrha stood fifty lengths away, looking up at the stars.

Ruby breathed a sigh of relief and scanned the area for trouble. Seeing nothing, she settled to the ground to wait.

As she watched, her mind drifted back to the all-too-brief chat with Jaune. It had been nice to see him, but it only reminded her of how much she missed him. He was her first friend, and still one of her best. She had even harbored the beginnings of a crush on him at one point. Granted, she had quickly squashed any feelings that arose when she saw how enamored he was with Pyrrha, and vice versa, but it still made him special. Yang still thought that she liked him, and maybe, if Pyrrha were out of the way, she still would.

Still, as innocent as her sister liked to think her, she was no fool. She knew what conflicting feelings could do to a circle of friends. Pyrrha was his partner, and because of that she had priority. No leader should come between a Hunter and his partner, especially not over something as fleeting as a crush. They had Grimm to fight. If they went into a fight with resentment and anger everyone could be killed, and that was unacceptable. That didn't mean that controlling her feelings had been easy, but she liked to think that she was stronger for it. Maybe, one day, she would meet another Hunter. Nothing against Jaune, of course, but she always _had_ liked muscles. Preferably someone bigger than her, although that wouldn't be hard to find. He had to like cookies, definitely, and Weiss and Yang. Although not _like_ like. Just get along with. Blake too.

A shadow rose from the grass behind Pyrrha. Moonlight gleamed from the bleach-white boneplates of a beowolf. Lost in thought, Pyrrha did not notice it. Ruby screamed her name, and Pyrrha turned towards her in surprise - but away from the Grimm.

Ruby deployed Crescent Rose and fired it behind her, sending a lead slug into the wall of Beacon and flinging her towards her friend. She felt the tug of resistance as her blade embedded itself, tip first, into the stomach of the beast. The sour-meat smell of entrails filled her nose.

She turned to see the beowolf still standing, one paw scrabbling vainly at the handle of Crescent Rose. It turned to her and swiped weakly, a claw catching her cloak and sending a line of fire across her shoulder. She hissed and jerked away, only to realize, too late, that in doing so she was pulling the creature down on top of her. The Grimm gave a death-gurgle through the blood in its lungs as it crashed down.

As Ruby fell backwards, her scythe handle caught on the ground beneath her calf. She felt the sickening _crack_ more than she heard it, but the wave of pain that followed made it very clear that she had just snapped her leg. The beowolf's heavy mass fell on top of her. Her hands pushed frantically at the dead weight, but she was simply not strong enough. Black spots drifted across her vision, but whether they came from the pain or the lack of oxygen was beyond her.

Just as she was about to give up and yell to Pyrrha, a slender hand appeared before her and began to pull at the carcass. The strength of two did what she could not, and the body shifted - onto her legs. A scream ripped through her teeth, and she fell into darkness.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Hey, guys and gals!**

 **Quick note about the OCs if you're curious. Jasper is modeled after John Henry, the 19th century American folk hero known for his skill digging tunnels for the railroad. Aria is taken from the proverbial "canary in a coal mine" _, Canaria_ being the scientific genus for canaries.**

 **Let me know what you think! As always, I will never abandon a story. I hope to see you guys soon.**

 **Much love to you all,**

 **Anthologion**


	6. Reckonings

Rain thundered down around him. His clothes were sodden, hanging heavily from his shoulders and hips. Water ran in rivulets across his scalp and down his face. It poured in messy streams from the roof to join the pools collecting in the street, where it mixed with the dirt between the cobblestones and gurgled across the back courtyard of the inn.

Jaune swayed unsteadily on his feet and peered over the edge of his shield at Qrow. His arm ached, his legs ached, and, to top it all off, his socks were wet. At least the rain kept his bangs out of his face. He spared a glance at Crocea Mors, lying against the inn wall. He never knew how much confidence he got just from holding it. Not having it just felt…wrong.

A _splash_ of water alerted him to movement outside of his vision. He brought his shield up just in time to block a bone-jarring blow from the massive steel bar Qrow called a sword. The blade skidded off of the white-lacquered surface, narrowly missing his leg on the way down.

"Close," Qrow commented, raising his voice to be heard over the rain. "Either angle it less or step away from the blow."

He didn't mention Jaune's lapse in concentration, for which Jaune was grateful. He _had_ been distracted, but since both he and Qrow knew it Qrow chose not to say anything. Goodwitch, by contrast, would have chewed him out, and while there wasn't anything _wrong_ with that approach, he preferred Qrow's method. It assumed that he was competent enough to spot his own obvious mistakes. Knowing that no one was going to correct everything made him watch himself more closely, to catch those mistakes himself. The implicit faith in his ability was nice for his confidence, too.

Qrow raised his scythe again, this time dropping the point down into a lunge. Jaune forced screaming muscles to angle the shield into what he hoped was close to the right position. The point glanced by him harmlessly, eliciting an approving cry from Qrow. He stepped in closer and mimed a return thrust with an empty hand.

His mentor laughed and grabbed the outstretched arm, twisting around to send Jaune flying through the air. He landed hard on the cobblestones. Rough edges pressed into his back, and he groaned aloud, more as a reaction to the unexpected throw than out of any real pain.

A hand reached down and grabbed his arm. He automatically shifted his weight to allow Qrow to pull him to his feet. Qrow's hair was plastered to his head and his shirt stuck to his back and sides, but the amused look in his eyes wasn't dampened a bit. He slapped Jaune's other shoulder with a grin.

"Cheater," Jaune accused him as he slipped his shield from his arm. He rolled a fist around, stretching sore muscles. "That wasn't part of the drill."

Qrow shook his head and chuckled. "There are no drills," he reminded. "This is training, all day, every day. And in training, everything goes, all the time."

" _Everything?_ "

"Everything."

A flash of lightning ripped the sky apart to their right, followed almost instantly by a deep roar of thunder that shook the ground beneath their feet.

When Qrow looked off towards the strike with a vague kind of interest, Jaune saw an opportunity. He dropped his shield and dove into a tackle. Qrow let out a shout of surprise as he fell, hands scrabbling over Jaune's back in a desperate bid for purchase.

They fell to the ground and rolled over wet stone. Qrow's sword fell with a clatter as he buried a fist in Jaune's ribs. Jaune felt the air rush from his lungs and replied with an answering punch that missed and hit the ground, sending a line of pain shooting across his knuckles.

He cursed and drew his hand back automatically, but the damage was done. Qrow took advantage of the reprieve to flip them over and pin Jaune to the ground. After straining to extricate himself, Jaune went limp, conceding defeat.

"You know," said Qrow appreciatively, still lying on top of Jaune, "if I could have gotten Yang to listen like that, teaching her would have been much easier."

Jaune coughed, trying to get his breath back. "Really?" he wheezed. "She always seemed so interested in class, though."

Qrow laughed and helped him to his feet.

The two made their way from the courtyard into the inn in companionable silence. They entered through the back door, dripping trails of water over the rough wood planking. Qrow ignored the dirty glance from the innkeeper and headed for the stairs. Jaune could not brush off the glare so easily, but reasoned that the man was making enough money from their stay to make up for the trouble.

The span of five minutes saw them changed and mostly dry, sitting next to a blazing fire in the common room. Summer it may have been, but the combination of rain and the arrival of evening gave the air a distinct chill. The room was empty, save for them; Jaune imagined that most people in the town were in their homes, and they were the only visitors that he knew of.

Qrow was nursing a glass of some unidentifiable brown liquor and staring absently into the fire. His feet were propped up on a small decorative table. It squeaked occasionally as he shifted, as if to protest the treatment, but it held. No doubt it had received such treatment before.

Jaune looked him, then at the burning coals. He was loath to break the silence, but he needed to talk. The eventual goal of their mission - to kill some woman he had never met - was bothering him. It wasn't the legalities of the thing - since it was Qrow and Ozpin doing it, he assumed it was legal somehow. He had kept his silence because, well, it wasn't _his_ mission. It was Qrow's, and he might not even take Jaune along for it.

On the other hand, he might, and that was what kept nagging at him. The way Jaune saw it, Hunters were heroes, first and last. This…this just didn't feel like something a hero would do.

He made up his mind and glanced around. The room was empty - they were alone.

"Qrow," he said softly.

The hunter grunted, not taking his eyes from the embers.

Jaune took that as an acknowledgement rather than a dismissal, and continued in an even softer voice, barely loud enough to reach across the space between them.

"Uh, about this mission of yours…"

Sharp eyes flicked to his face. "I thought I said not to worry about it."

"I know, I'm sorry, but…I need to know. Why do we…do _you_ …want to kill that woman?"

Qrow sighed. "I knew I said that the wrong way." He turned his body to face Jaune, sending the table into a fit of squeaking. "And I guess I should have expected it to bother you."

"Look, it's not that I want to kill her, or anybody. I don't. You never, _ever_ take a life unless there's no other choice." He looked off over Jaune's shoulder briefly. "Even then, you have to live with it."

"Then…" Jaune whispered. ' _Why this?_ ' hung unsaid in the evening air.

"This woman," Qrow hesitated. "Cinder Fall. She's dangerous, kid, more dangerous than anyone you've ever met. My job is to keep tabs on her. And how it is now, what we think she's doing…it's time to stop her."

"So arrest her, or something!" Jaune cried quietly, in disbelief. "You can't say what you said about lives and then go assassinate her!"

Qrow shook his head vehemently. "This isn't an assassination. I'm just trying to find information." He took his feet from the table and lead close, staring intently at Jaune. "If we can, we'll just pass that along to the army and they'll take care of it." He rubbed his face tiredly. "I'm doing a terrible job of this."

"I was trying to prepare you for the most likely situation, okay? I've been following her for years, and even as careful as I've been…you always leave marks. Always. She knows someone is looking for her, and if she ever finds out who I am she'll come after me. If we find wherever she's hiding, she'll come after me. If we find someone too close to her, she'll come after me."

He stopped and looked at Jaune. His eyes showed the exhaustion he felt from years of hiding and sneaking.

"If she finds us, someone is going to die. I don't know who, but I'd rather it not be you or me. And, if it ends up being her," he shrugged and took a sip of his drink, "I won't lose any sleep over it."

Jaune nodded and looked away. He had never killed someone before, and he doubted if he could; even killing his first Grimm had left him feeling sick. Still, the whole mission made a lot more sense now. The weight in his stomach, for the first time in weeks, eased a bit.

"What kind of information are you looking for?"

"You don't need to know that."

Right. Of course he didn't.

"Is there anything I should be doing?"

"You should forget about it." Qrow said with a glare. "Your job is training, and training only. You can't even kill a fully grown boarbatusk by yourself. _She_ 'd kill you in seconds."

Jaune scowled at the response, but said nothing. The memory of his fight with the Boarbatusk played through his mind. He felt confident that he could kill it if he had another chance, now that he expected that _feeling_ that came with it. That feeling, that _wrongness_ …what had Qrow called it?

"You never explained why that Boarbatusk had that…thingy. I don't remember what you called it."

"An aura."

 _An aura? What?_

"Grimm don't have souls," he objected.

"No, they don't." Qrow drained his glass and set it beside him, but said nothing else.

The fire crackled and popped, sending plumes of sparks flying up the chimney and out of sight. Jaune drifted back through his fights at Beacon, during initiation, during Port's bring-a-Grimm-to-class fights, during field exercises for Goodwitch. Maybe he _had_ felt it before, and just hadn't noticed. Early on, he had been scared enough that he probably _couldn't_ have noticed. He huffed a humorless breath. That wasn't true, though, and he knew it. There had been more to that feeling than fear.

"When I say aura, I don't mean what we have. Call it bad vibes, if you want, or feelings. It's - look, did you read fairy tales when you were a kid?" Qrow asked abruptly.

"What? I - yeah, of course." Jaune had loved fairy tales, especially ones with knights, but he didn't see what that had to do with anything.

"Remember how there's always a good side and a bad side?"

"…Yes?"

"Grimm are like that. They're evil." Qrow sneered at the fireplace. "I know back in the city, behind the walls, where it's _safe_ ," he made the word sound almost like a curse, "they say that the creatures of Grimm aren't _really_ evil. They say they're just dangerous, like wild animals. Sure, they kill humans, but only because that's how they're wired or something."

"That's what they told us at Beacon," Jaune admitted. "They told us Grimm were like bears or wolves that think humanity is in their territory. The stories about them being evil were made up by uneducated people trying to figure out how to explain them."

Qrow's face twisted in utter scorn. " _Made up_." He jerked his glass to his mouth only to find it empty, then slammed it down. "Grimm are evil," he said flatly. "Anyone who says they aren't hasn't seen them in too long." He rose to his feet and stepped moodily to the bar to refill his drink from a bottle that sat on the counter.

Whiskey tinkled against the side of a glass. The bottle thumped down on the counter, and Qrow's shoes clicked against the floor until he threw himself down into his chair again.

"People forget, living behind the walls," he growled. "They lose themselves in their work, or on computers, or out on nights out with friends, and they forget how the world really works. They've never seen someone be killed or tortured by the Grimm for fun. They've never seen someone put their life in danger for someone else. That's all tales to them, all _fairy stories_. But the fairy stories are right." He stabbed a finger at Jaune. "That's what you feel when you're near them. That evil. You _know_ , deep down, that they shouldn't be here. They don't belong."

"Then…" Jaune trailed off, bewildered. "Why would they teach us that?"

"They don't want to believe it," Qrow spat. "Life's a lot simpler when you don't think about good or evil. And they can get away with it, up there in their little ivory tower. They can go to work, come up with their little theories and ideas, maybe leave once a month to help students kill baby Grimm. They don't remember what it's like down here. They've forgotten what it means to be a Hunter."

He took a long drink of whiskey.

"We are what stands between _them_ ," he waved his hand towards the window, "and people. It's who we are, what we -".

The door slammed open with a _whoosh_ of wind and rain. Jaune jumped in alarm, but calmed when James, the gatekeeper, stumbled in, water draining off of the prominent fringes on his pants and jacket. The sky outside was dark already, the thick stormclouds blocking what little light the evening sun offered.

"Qrow," he said tersely, his accent thick with agitation. "We need you. Found a body, just outside the walls."

Qrow cursed, but stood. Jaune gave him a rueful look - he had just gotten warm. Qrow shrugged by way of reply and strode out the door into the darkness. Jaune hesitated for half a second, dreading the inevitability of wet socks, before following him.

The rain slapped down on his arms and head. It was colder than Jaune remembered, and although it wasn't falling as hard as it had been he knew that his clothes would be soaked through soon enough. The circle of light from James' flashlight flickered across the buildings in front of them as they walked down the street towards the back of the town where the locals had built their homes.

The streets in the residential area of the city were small, a testament to the limited space inside the walls. The buildings themselves were built tight against the other, most only a single story. There were no sidewalks, only the impractically tight streets and alleys that cut through the development. Dirty water flowed through the gutters beside them, carrying away the dirt and trash of the roads.

They followed the grimy stream past the still houses. Like Hunters in the field, the residents only ventured beyond the walls to work in the mines when it was light. The early darkness and rain had pushed them inside to relax, or sleep, or do whatever they pleased with the extra hours.

The gutters ran beside the streets and converged at a point at the back of the town. A small pool drained through a smaller opening in the wall, blocked with multiple sets of thick grating to deter any creatures - Grimm or otherwise - from entering. Near the pool stood a gate, one of many that pierced the walls to offer escape in the event of a Grimm attack.

James threw back the massive bolts that secured the gate to the stone around it. The door swung open with a high whine, and the light flooding from his lamp revealed a tight corridor, scarcely wider than the door, that ran through the wall. They ducked in, heads scraping against the domed roof. A second gate, cast from a rust-resistant alloy like the first, barred the exit to the outer world. There was a spear racked on the wall by it, the head wrapped in greased cloth to stave off rust.

Jaune realized with a morbid sense of approval that one man alone could hold this passage. Few Grimm were small enough to enter, and it was child's play to hold those that could at bay with a thrusting weapon. Even a civilian could use a spear with little or no training - pointing and stabbing was near instinctive.

Qrow tapped him on the shoulder and gestured to his sword. A second whine heralded the opening of the outer door, and Jaune grasped the hilt of Crocea Mors tightly.

There was a pause, and then they moved. Jaune drew his sword the moment he was out of the tunnel, eyes up and scanning the fields for a flash of white bone or the rustle of grasses underfoot.

A beat passed, and no attack came.

Some of the tension bled out of their shoulders, the tips of swords and knives dropping ever so slightly as the possibility of immediate danger was discarded.

"One of the sentries found him an hour back," James whispered as they worked their way along the base of the wall. His great knife gleamed wickedly in his hand, flashing in the light of the moon. "He must have been there for most of the day, but no one looked straight down and saw him."

"Who was it?" Jaune asked curiously.

James shook his head. "You don't know him. Loner, drunk more often than not. No family here, and no close friends - we got lucky."

Jaune gave James' back a dirty look. While it was true that the death of a man with no one to mourn him meant less negativity and a smaller chance that the Grimm would try to attack, he didn't need to say it like that. It almost sounded like he was glad the man had died.

The halo of light from the flashlight illuminated a lumpy mound by the base of the wall in front of them. James motioned to the body and allowed Jaune and Qrow to examine it while he kept watch for roaming Grimm.

Qrow knelt down and began to look over the body. He grunted almost immediately, pointing out a round hole in the side of the man's head. The faint stench of decay mixed with stale alcohol and the rankness of body odor wormed through the air, making Jaune's lip curl in reflexive disgust. Whatever the man was, he had certainly not been clean.

The body lay facedown on the ground. His grey shirt was dirty, his splayed arms covered with liver spots and wrinkled from alcoholism. Jaune squatted next to the corpse and put a hand on the ground to stabilize himself. When he drew it back his fingers were sticky with blood.

He wiped it quickly on the man's pants, feeling slightly guilty afterwards even though their owner was beyond caring, and examined the body more closely. Other than the hole in his head, there were no other wounds apparent, nothing to suggest that he had been mauled by Grimm.

Qrow poked and prodded at the corpse, and even stuck his hand into the man's pockets searching for personal effects. Eventually, he nodded to Jaune, and the two worked to flip the corpse over.

The metallic smell of blood and the more powerful stench of rotting flesh rose in a nauseating wave. Jaune gagged, and Qrow swore. The man's entrails spilled out over the ground, a mess of ripped flesh and broken organs. The Grimm had eaten away most of his chest and stomach. His face was like ground meat, the skin shredded and torn away, completely unrecognizable.

Qrow held his hand over his nose and bent close, shining the torch carefully over the mess. He examined the man's head first, grabbing the man's bangs to tilt it this way and that in the light, and then worked his way down methodically.

Jaune stood and moved to join James. His stomach rolled uneasily in his gut, rebelling against the grisly sights and smells. A noise of disgust broke past his lips, prompting the gatekeeper to give him a sympathetic pat on the back.

"You get used to it," James promised before he left to join Qrow in his examination.

He really didn't think he would.

Eventually, the two men had seen enough. Qrow rose to his feet with a sigh, and turned his attention to his companions.

"Let's talk inside," he suggested, eyes already tracking along the ground, away into the darkness.

James removed a small vial from his jacket and stood over to the body. Raising his hand, he threw the delicate container to the earth. A loud _crack_ shattered the stillness of the night, and instantly the body was encased in the strangely blue ice that came from dust, protected for a time from wandering Grimm and the ravages of decay.

They jogged quickly along the wall to the gate, ears peeled for the growl of a Beowolf or the cry of a Griffon. The explosion had been heard, they were certain, and it was now only a matter of time before something came to investigate. Luck was on their side, though, and they made it to the gate without incident.

Once they passed into the city, James pulled the metal slabs of the doors shut and slid the massive bars into place. Once the last rod grated into its stone receiver, he turned and looked to Qrow quizzically.

"So," he asked, "what do you think?"

Instead of answering, Qrow turned to Jaune. "What did you see?"

Jaune swallowed the bile that rose in his throat at the thought of the bloody hole in the man's head and answered thickly, "Shot? I guess? And then the Grimm…" He trailed off with a shudder.

"Half right, anyway," drawled James. "That wasn't any bullet hole, though. No exit wound. More like a pick."

"Looked like it," agreed Qrow, "but that's your job. Thanks for the heads up."

James inclined his head briefly. "I'll keep you updated," he promised.

Qrow nodded and walked away, a very confused Jaune to follow in his wake.

"Why did we have to do that?" he asked weakly, once they had moved out of earshot.

"I told you that fighting Grimm is only a small part of the job," reminded Qrow. "A lot of what we do is making sure we don't have to fight in the first place." He bent down to wash off his hands in the runoff. After a second, he stood and continued.

"That was a murder. We need to know about things like that to keep tabs on the local mood; when word gets out, things will start to get more dangerous. It won't be bad this time because no one was close to the victim, but it'll be a good experience for you."

"Couldn't he have just told us that?" questioned Jaune. "We didn't need to go see… _that_." He waved his hand vaguely behind him.

"Sure we did," Qrow replied easily. "We had to be there to fight off any Grimm that showed up."

Jaune wanted to argue, but said nothing. Qrow was right, as usual. He just wished that he didn't have to deal with the images that floated to the front of his mind whenever he tried not to think about them.

"What did you mean that the pick was 'his job'?"

"James is…well, he's kinda like the sheriff. He's a Hunter by training, but he was elected to keep the peace. The investigation is his business. We'll help if he asks, but there are more important things for us to think about now."

Jaune, tired of asking questions, simply waited. If Qrow wanted him to know what those things were, he would say. They wound their way towards the center of the town, out of the crowded residential area and onto the main thoroughfare. Qrow was deep in thought, apparently, for he didn't give his normal glare to the Schnee statue, but turned instead to Jaune.

"We're not going to do this now, but start thinking about it," Qrow ordered. His eyes gleamed seriously in the darkness. "When you deal with the Grimm, you have to feel _nothing_. Not fear, not horror, not doubt, not anything. It's what separates the Hunter from the hunted. We'll do more with it later, but for now I want you to be conscious of your feelings. Try to shove them down, out of the way. Don't feel, just think and do."

Jaune stared at Qrow in total indignation, all thoughts of blood and murder forgotten.

To suppress his feelings…feelings were outward evidence of the soul, markers that humans were fundamentally different from the creatures of Grimm. More than that, they were a badge of honor. To fight one's negative emotions, to stand strong in the face of fear - that was the essence of a Huntsman. They reminded a Huntsman that he was as human as the people he served. His fear in the midst of battle kept the Grimm from latching onto the fear of those less capable of defending themselves. Emotions were what _defined_ a Huntsman.

He spluttered, tried to find words to make Qrow see how ridiculous this was. He might as well ask Jaune to grow wings! It was cowardice, nothing more!

Qrow held up a hand to forestall the flood of recriminations. "We'll talk later," he ordered. "For now, think about it before you go to sleep. We've got a lot to do tomorrow."

Jaune snorted as he made his way out back to grab a quick shower. He already _had_ thought about it, and it was ridiculous.

Qrow watched him go with a small scowl on his face. The boy had made huge progress already, but he was still so naïve. It wouldn't last - it never did - but it made life much more difficult. He walked thoughtfully up the stairs, leaving the common room empty and silent. Convincing Jaune to try his approach could wait until tomorrow - at the moment he had a chance to sleep, and that was one thing he would never pass up.

* * *

For the first time since coming to Beacon, Blake wished - really, sincerely wished - for her room to be less quiet. Normally, between Yang, Weiss, Ruby, and the occasional contribution from Zwei, the nose was kept somewhere between a distraction and minor pandemonium. Blake had even located several spots around campus where she could be alone if things got too rowdy.

At the moment, though, team RWBY's room was near silent, and she absolutely hated it. The normal, comfortable feeling that accompanied safety and friends was smeared out of recognition by the tension floating through the air. Her heart thumped faster than it should in a safe place like this, and her ears were _just_ flattened enough to be noticeable if one were to look closely enough.

The problem was that the silence wasn't a _pleasant_ one. There was nothing better than a good, companionable silence, where nothing need be said and books could be enjoyed in peace and tranquility. If it happened on a drowsy afternoon with the sun beaming down outside and no need to go anywhere or do anything, so much the better. She'd even take it during a rainstorm with a nice cup of tea, curled up in bed under a blanket - she wasn't a picky girl.

But she didn't like this. This was a tense silence, a quietness loaded with expectation. It was the time between the gunshot and the sound of impact. There was nothing to do but wait for consequences that would surely come.

She wasn't the only one who noticed the atmosphere. Weiss sat elegantly at her desk, a textbook for next semester opened before her, one hand holding an ornate silver pen above a custom-bound cream notebook. She was ostensibly studying, but she had not made a single stroke on the page for the past ten minutes. Not that Blake was one to talk - she had long since given up feigning interest in her book. She held it open in front of her out of stubbornness, but her eyes glazed over when she turned her attention to the page before returning quickly to the source of the discontent.

Yang.

She sat backwards in a chair by the window, glaring out at the manicured trees and arcing buttresses without seeing them. From time to time, she would take out her phone and scroll through pages of pictures and social media before returning to her less-than-serene contemplation of the outdoors. Her eyes were neither lilac nor red, but a swirling magenta that told clearly of the turmoil inside. She had not said a word for hours, but if Blake knew her partner, she was brooding about their two missing friends.

Ruby had been flown to the hospital in Veil for observation. Her broken leg would put her out of commission for the better part of a month, even with the benefit of her aural healing. Of far greater concern was the gash on her shoulder; wounds suffered at the claws and tusks of the Grimm had an unfortunate habit of becoming infected. Far more experienced hunters than she had lost limbs and lives to the slow, inexorable creep of disease.

Where Pyrrha was, no one could say. She had appeared late last night, armor smeared with blood, half-dragging, half-carrying an unresponsive Ruby in from the fields. Ren and Nora had taken her back to JNPR's room to get cleaned up, but by the time Ruby had been loaded onto one of Beacon's medical airships she had gone, leaving an account of what had happened with Ren and Nora.

Yang had taken the news badly. She rushed to the hospital to see Ruby only to be told by the doctors that visiting was not allowed, at least until they established that she was clear of any infections that could be transmitted to others. Grimm-borne fevers were particularly virulent, and no one wanted to risk an outbreak. For the next few days, Ruby would be in isolation.

It had taken the better part of an hour to convince Yang to return to Beacon. She had submitted eventually, accepting that staying in the hospital waiting room indefinitely was not a practical option. They had all slept late that morning. After waking, Yang had not spoken beyond what was necessary to be civil, choosing instead to steam quietly in their room.

Both Weiss and Blake knew that it was only a matter of time before the pressure built up beyond what she could - or would - bottle up. When that happened, when Yang snapped, she would do something. What and when, her friends didn't know.

That was why they watched.

The morning ticked by in relative silence, punctuated by the occasional whisper-rasp of a page being turned. Blake, although she had begun to read half-heartedly, became engrossed in the story of a clandestine romance between a Faunus worker and a policeman. It spoke to her of the fight in her own life between her activist roots and her role as a keeper of order and safety. And, if she found it easy to overlay herself onto the main character, well, that was nobody's business but her own.

It was nearly mid-day when Yang slid her phone into her pocket and stood. Blake and Weiss were instantly on the alert. It was happening.

"I'm going to find Pyrrha," she announced grimly.

The two girls hesitated. They had expected something like this, even talked about it in hurried whispers when Yang was in the bathroom, but expecting it _didn't_ put them any closer to being able to handle it.

"Yang, wait!" Weiss ordered. She moved to stand between Yang and the door. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

Yang closed her eyes and clenched her fists in exasperation. "She put Ruby in the hospital! She's lucky that _talking_ is the only thing I'm going to do to her."

"Is it?" Weiss challenged.

"I wasn't so sure at first," Yang admitted impatiently. "But yeah, I'm just going to talk. Nothing else. Move." She took a small step forwards, as if to force her way out of the room.

When Weiss remained planted firmly in front of the larger girl, Blake slid out of her bed and moved to stand near her teammates. Someone needed to play peacekeeper. She touched Yang lightly on the arm and gave her a long look. Yang did not visibly calm, but she made no move to push further towards the door.

"Yang, I get that you're angry about Ruby. Believe me, I understand," she said, placating. "But we just want to know what there is to say. She knows she messed up, and I think all of us can agree that there's been enough going on without another fight."

Yang sighed. "I know. It's just...it makes me mad, you know? She's got to move on from Jaune at some point, and right now she's endangering the people around her."

"It hasn't even been a week." Weiss reminded her.

"Do you think the Grimm care?! Ruby got seriously injured last night." Yang said, her voice getting progressively louder. "I am _not_ losing someone else because that _girl_ can't get her stuff together!"

Blake, as much as she wanted to, couldn't deny that Yang had a point. She didn't have a sister, but if someone almost got Yang killed because their judgment was clouded by personal problems, she would be furious.

She thought quickly, trying to see the best way out of this. It was clear that Yang was going to find Pyrrha eventually, with or without their blessing. Perhaps the only thing to do was damage control. She looked at Weiss and gave a small nod.

"Fine," said Weiss. "Go talk to her if you must. Just remember that it was Ruby's decision to be out there with her. It could have happened to any of us."

"That's the point." Yang snarled, snatching her coat from the back of a chair.

The teammates made their way out of the room and across the campus in silence until they stood outside of Pyrrha's training room.

Blake quietly looked through the doorway of the training arena. "She's in there."

She and Weiss looked at each other anxiously, neither one quite sure what to do now. Yang, on the other hand, gave her head a frustrated shake.

"Get out of my way," she growled, and pushed past her partner into the room. Her teammates hesitated for a moment before following her. It was a private conversation, but they needed to be there if Yang got out of hand.

Pyrrha was sitting on the floor with her back to them. Her rifle lay across her lap, and a series of battered metal disks were strung across the opposite wall. The floor beneath was strewn with broken and twisted lead.

Yang stormed across the floor towards the girl. "Pyrrha, _why_?"

Pyrrha jumped and looked over her shoulder with startled eyes. When she saw who it was, her expression filled with remorse. "Yang, I'm so sorry -"

"Don't _I'm sorry_ me," Yang interrupted harshly. "You almost got Ruby _killed_!"

"That was never my inten-"

"Of course not, but you still did it!" Yang glared down at Pyrrha. She clenched her hands into fists at her sides, her eyes still that disturbing magenta. "What were you doing out there by yourself? I know you're Pyrrha Nikos, but the rules are there for a reason!"

A shadow of anger passed over Pyrrha's face, but when she spoke her tone held nothing but contrition. "I…had to get outside. Seeing Jaune again…I never really processed that he wasn't coming back, I suppose."

"And outdoors wasn't good enough?! You just _had_ to get outside the walls."

Pyrrha looked at the floor and spoke through thinned lips. "I know, it was thoughtless, and I _am_ sorry, Yang! I know it's no excuse, but after seeing Jaune….he held our team together, and between the end of the year and trying to figure out how to do the jobs he always did…I just didn't think."

Yang opened and shut her mouth. She growled in frustration, and began to pace rapidly instead. Her combat boots thudded out a quick, agitated tempo on the concrete floor.

"You know," she observed caustically, continuing to pace. "I remember reading in the papers that you were coming to Beacon. I remember thinking that it would be nice to meet you, maybe even get to train with the wonder girl of our generation. A fun challenge, you know?" Blake whispered out Yang's name in warning, but she ignored it and plunged on. "But look at you," she sneered, coming to a halt in front of Pyrrha, "completely falling apart just because some boy left, and now you don't know what to do. You're supposed to be a Huntress, not some love-sick little girl still in combat school!"

Pyrrha's eyes narrowed in fury. She took her rifle and rose to her feet in a smooth motion, her weapon twisting and retracting into a sword as she did.

"He isn't _some boy,_ " she hissed.

Yang barked a humorless laugh. "What's that, Pyrrha?" she mocked. "Are you going to fight me 'cause I'm telling the truth?"

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," said Pyrrha tightly.

"If I were you," Yang yelled, "I would grow up! You need to stop trying to carry him around with you, because he's not coming back!" She tossed her hair angrily. "Just get over it already and quit with the pity party about taking up his slack, because - let's be honest - he didn't carry his own weight anyway!"

Pyrrha's breath caught. Her green eyes narrowed and her shoulders shook with wrath. She stared at Yang for a long moment, then drew back her fist and struck at the shorter girl with a scream of anger. Yang jumped back several feet, dodging the punch easily.

"Finally!" Yang ground out. She deployed her bracelets and began to circle the ring.

Weiss made a sudden move forwards, as if to head off the conflict.

Blake shook her head quickly and held out her arm to stop the heiress. "No. Let them fight. They can't talk after that. If they don't work it out, it's just going to fester."

Weiss scowled at her teammate, but acquiesced. She tapped a booted foot against the floor with nervous energy, clearly less than pleased with the situation.

The unspoken assumption was that the fight would be close. Pyrrha had yet to be defeated in Goodwitch's class, but Yang had always put up a good fight. Neither girl would be hurt, and by the end they would both be tired enough that the problem could be resolved in a more peaceful manner.

Without hesitation, Yang cocked Ember Celica and sent two quick bursts flying towards the champion before charging. Pyrrha rolled to the side and came up on one knee, aiming along the sights of her rifle and delivering a quick, precise series of shots to the body of the stronger girl. Yang allowed her aura to soak up the bullets without pause, winding her arm back to send a massive haymaker at Pyrrha's face.

Yang swung, but Pyrrha ducked underneath her arm and spun behind her. She grabbed a massive handful of golden hair, yanking its owner off balance with her free hand while using the hand that held her sword to deliver a sharp blow to the side of Yang's head.

Yang reeled from the impact, but reached behind her and grabbed Pyrrha's arm, pulling it forward and spinning to throw her over her hip. Pyrrha took the throw in stride and tucked into a roll, again finishing on one knee with her rifle raised. Two sharp _cracks_ rang out in quick succession, two casings _tinged_ on the floor, and two bright flashes on Yang's torso marked where the bullets hit.

She growled in irritation and flew towards Pyrrha, reaching out with her left hand as if to grab the girl. Pyrrha ducked underneath, but as she did so Yang pulled her hand back and rotated her shoulders, using her momentum to bring her right fist around. The punch snapped Pyrrha's head to the side. A trickle of blood ran from the corner of her mouth before her aura activated to seal the cut. She stumbled backwards.

Yang gave a cry of triumph and leapt after her, trying to move in close to grapple and finish the fight. Just as she reached her target, Pyrrha jumped to the side and lashed out with her leg. Her foot connected with the back of Yang's knee, making the blonde crash to the ground.

In a split second, Pyrrha was standing over her. She planted a knee in Yang's back, grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled the other girl's head back. Her sword gave a soft rasp, and she jumped back. A hank of thick golden tresses fluttered in her fist.

"Oh, no." Blake groaned. Weiss stared in wordless shock. Grudge match this may be, but some things…some things were simply out of bounds.

Yang narrowed her eyes in confusion and spun around, trying to figure out why there had been no attack. Pyrrha, eyes blazing with anger and scorn, tossed the lock of hair towards her, the strands separating and drifting down to the dirty floor.

Yang howled in pure, unadulterated rage. An explosion ripped across the arena, her hair billowed behind her back, shadows jumped and danced around her as she burned. _Never_ had anyone - _especially_ someone she thought a friend - gone so far.

She sprinted at Pyrrha, firing shells from Ember Celica as she went. Explosions rocked the room, mixed with the higher, sharper reports of Pyrrha's rifle. Yang sent punch after punch at Pyrrha, but Pyrrha blocked or dodged each one, always moving. Scratches appeared on Yang's arms, on her shoulders, on her cheek from where Pyrrha's strikes landed, only to quickly disappear as her aura healed them. Each time, the blonde's blows became more and more powerful, until missed punches sent chips of concrete flying from the floor.

Weiss stepped forwards with determination. "We should stop this."

Blake shifted slightly. She was obviously growing less and less confident about the fight, but said nothing.

Weiss growled in irritation and looked to her team's aura monitor on her scroll. Yang was deep in the red, barely above the line that marked a loss. She was unable to see Pyrrha's, but she appeared to be in far better shape, even counting the blood on her face.

Yang screamed in frustration, drawing their attention back to the ring. Pyrrha was virtually untouched, a red blur underneath the lights as she ducked and rolled away from the girl's attacks.

"Stop! Running! Away!" Yang grated through clenched teeth, sending another shot towards Pyrrha. The blonde's shoulder rocked back from the force of the answering bullet. She ran again at Pyrrha, only to receive a long cut down her bicep. She hissed in pain and backed away, realizing through the fog of anger that it wasn't healing. She needed to finish this _now._

Weiss' patience snapped. She dashed towards the ring to stop the fight, with Blake running close behind her.

Yang ran at Pyrrha, leaping high in the air and cocking her arm back for a massive strike. Pyrrha ran at closer as well, twisting out of the way at the last moment to grab Yang's jacket and slam her out of the air to the ground. She drove a knee into Yang's stomach, sending the breath out of the girl with a _whoosh_ while reaching back and grabbing her shield in her right hand. She held Yang down with her left hand and used her right to deliver two sharp blows to her face with the boss of her shield.

"Pyrrha, stop!" Weiss yelled. Blake grabbed her arm before she could hit Yang again. Pyrrha's head whipped around, her ponytail flying behind her. The champion looked coldly at them, then at Yang lying half-conscious beneath her. Without a word, she shook Blake off and stood. She stared for a moment at Yang's prone form, wiping the blood from her face with the back of her hand, and then swept away from the ring towards the locker rooms.

* * *

 **Hi, guys and gals!**

 **One of my big beefs with the show is that we only ever see Pyrrha when she's being angsty or sweet. That's great and all, but she's based on Achilles. The dude slaughtered the Trojans like cattle after Hector killed Patroclus. He killed so many of them that the river stopped running because of all the bodies and the river god came out to fight him over it. The wrath of Achilles is unequivocally his most legendary quality, and we never see Pyrrha get there. It would take a lot to get to that point, but I think the situation I presented stays in character.**

 **Let me know what you think!**

 **Much love to you all,**

 **Anthologion**


	7. A Light in the Darkness

**Parts of this chapter have proven to be far more controversial than I anticipated. The author's note at the end has been updated to provide an explanation of the thought process that went into this.**

* * *

Ruby hobbled through the corridors of Beacon, taking in the familiar stonework with a definite sense of relief. She was glad to be back.

Her doctors had declared her free of any Grimm-borne diseases just that morning, so she had been allowed to check out of the hospital on the condition that she wear a cast and boot for the next week. It had seemed like it wasn't a big deal at first. Really, choosing between wearing a boot and staying in bed in a cold room with no teammates and stupid TV shows? That was almost easier than deciding whether it was worth skipping study time to hide Blake's weapon in Zwei's bed and blame the whole thing on Yang. After all, she wore boots all the time. Easy peasy.

NO! Not easy peasy! She hated the boot already. It didn't bend, it wasn't comfortable, it wasn't the same height as her normal boot, and it didn't even _look_ cool. It threw off her balance, 'cause it only weighed like half of what her combat boots did. Worst of all, she couldn't run. SHE COULDN'T RUN! What was the point of life if you couldn't run? It was like...words failed her. There wasn't even a good comparison to make. Breakfast without milk, or something equally horrible.

The hospital had offered to call Yang and arrange for her to be picked up, but she had refused and checked herself out instead. She was fine with her sister and her teammates helping her - not that she really had a choice - but they could be smothering even at the best of times. Yang would fuss and worry, Weiss would scold, and Blake would…well, she would either agree with Weiss and Yang or simply give her a hug while being quietly worried. It was always hard to tell with Blake.

Either way, she had wanted some time by herself to enjoy her newfound freedom. She had used the hospital's shuttle to get to the airship docks and then taken the public transport to Beacon. By the end of the trip, she almost regretted not calling Yang - almost. Stupid boot.

She limped down the hall and cast a curious eye towards JNPR's room. The door was closed. Making a mental note to stop by later, she paused before the door to her own room and reached into her pocket. She pulled out a small bottle of medicine and swallowed two of the pills, then took a deep breath. _Here goes._

The door swung open at her push.

" _Ruby!_ "

Yang practically flew to the door and pulled Ruby close. Her hair tickled Ruby's face, her strong arms circled Ruby's back, her nose pressed into Ruby's hair. Ruby smiled ruefully into her sister's shoulder and hugged Yang tightly, breathing in the familiar scent of designer shampoo. After a long moment, she relaxed. Yang took the hint and stepped back (but not before giving her a good squeeze), her eyes already flying over Ruby's body.

"What are you doing here?" she exclaimed. "How did you get back? Why didn't you call?! You're in a _boot!_ You shouldn't be walking!"

"She checked herself out of the hospital, obviously," Weiss interrupted tartly, rising from her usual spot at her desk. She crossed the room to give Ruby a gentle hug before pulling back and glaring at her. "Although _why_ she didn't call us is entirely beyond my comprehension."

Ruby felt abashed in spite of herself. "I know you guys were going to come get me," she mumbled, looking at the floor. "I just wanted some time to myself."

"While that is completely understandable," Weiss admonished, exasperation obviously warring with relief at Ruby's return, " _you were just released from the hospital_. You should have let us know, at least."

"I'm _fine_ , Weiss," Ruby objected, reaching up to return a warm embrace from Blake. "They would have made me stay in the hospital if I wasn't."

"Speaking of hospitals, what did the doctors say?" Yang asked anxiously.

Ruby groaned and lifted her boot from the floor before letting it _thump_ back to the ground. "A _week_. A week, Yang! I can't run in this stupid thing! What's Professor Goodwitch going to say?"

"That you should be more careful," Blake opined as she made her way back to her bed.

Ruby whined expressively. "But I don't want to miss combat class! It's the best one!"

"Look on the bright side," suggested Weiss. "You have more time to catch up on the work that you missed." She nodded towards a piece of notebook paper that sat on Ruby's desk. "I even talked to our professors to procure a list of assignments and organized them into a schedule for you. Without combat class, you can be caught up in a few days. If you started now, you should be able to finish at least one essay by tonight."

"Weiss." Ruby looked at her best friend in disbelief. "I'm on pain medicine and I just got my freedom back. You're _crazy_ if you think I'm studying today." The odds of her doing any homework right now were only slightly better than the odds of Yang deciding to cut her hair in a bob for fun. The odds of her doing homework _well_ were even less than that. She could feel the buzz of the meds kicking in already, now that she thought about it. Her work suffered when she was sleepy. It would probably be worse when she was all dopey from whatever this stuff was.

"Thanks, though." She flashed a smile. It never hurt to be polite. Well, polite-ish.

She looked up at her bunk with longing. It was weird that she still wanted to sleep, 'cause she hadn't done much _but_ sleep in the hospital, but whatever. It still sounded amazing. The question was how she would get up there with this boot on. She usually climbed up from the end of Weiss' bed, but the boot would make that hard. The sheet that blocked her bed off from the outside world fluttered in the breeze from the air conditioner, almost mocking her inability to reach it. Stupid sheet. Stupid bed. Whose idea was it to have bunk beds, anyway? They were in a combat academy! Someone was going to get hurt eventually!

Oh, right. Hers.

Yang followed her gaze and grimaced, realizing the issue immediately. "Oh. That's going to be a problem." She stared contemplatively at the bunk. "I could always just toss you up," she suggested.

"Don't be ridiculous," Weiss said crisply. "She can take my bed."

Ruby immediately shook her head. "Where will you sleep, then?" she protested.

More importantly, why was Weiss being nice and ignoring Ruby's rejection of her get-Ruby-caught-up-on-classwork-today plan? That was suspicious, or her name wasn't Ruby Rose. Which it was. In case anyone was wondering.

Weiss gave her a pitying look. "Obviously," she spoke as if to a particularly slow child, "I'll sleep in your bed." She scowled as if to forestall any further disagreement. "And don't even think about arguing. That deathtrap has held up all year. The odds of it killing me in the next few weeks are miniscule."

Ruby considered the offer. It _did_ make sense. Getting into (and especially out of) Weiss' bed would be easier than her own. Also, pillows. Weiss had _awesome_ pillows. Not that her own pillows weren't really comfy, but Weiss' were _fantastic_.

"Although," Weiss added thoughtfully, "you can protest as much as you like, I suppose. You can't exactly climb up there to stop me."

Ruby whined in indignation while Yang cackled with amusement, but it was more for show than out of any actual offense. She had missed Weiss' snark. It was nice, in a prickly kind of way.

She limped over to her side of the room and hauled herself onto her partner's mattress. The boot caught on the sheets and kept her from bending her knee, but she managed. Shimmying back against the wall, she looked at her teammates quizzically as she began to work the combat boot from her non-broken leg.

"So, did I miss anything?"

The sudden silence that followed prompted a swell of suspicion in Ruby's gut, even through the drug-induced tingles. She looked around at her teammates. Blake's poker face was in full effect, and Weiss bore a carefully sculpted neutral expression. Yang…Yang stared abashedly off at the ground, avoiding her gaze in a way that she shouldn't be doing after Ruby just got out of the hospital.

Yang should be fawning, hugging, or hovering in a way that was simultaneously endearing and annoying. She should be having difficulty figuring out the line between big sister and mom. She _shouldn't_ be acting like Dad caught her sneaking out at night to go to a party.

"What?" Ruby asked, narrowing her eyes as she dropped the boot to the floor. The _thud_ of rubber on carpet sounded loud in the quiet room.

Yang spoke, her eyes never leaving the floor. "Guys, would you give us a bit?"

"That sounds like an _excellent_ idea." Weiss looked to Blake. "Shall we?" she suggested.

"Of course," Blake drawled as she stood with smooth grace.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Ruby glared with growing impatience at her sister.

" _Yang_."

If it was possible, Yang looked even more ashamed. Her shoulders were slumped over and her mouth was pulled into a grimace.

"I…I messed up, Ruby."

Ruby sighed. If this was going to happen, it needed to happen the right way. Sleep would have to wait until later. _  
_

"Come here," she ordered, scooting sideways on the mattress.

The mattress shifted and rocked as Yang climbed up next to her sister. Ruby leaned against her arm, letting her head rest on Yang's shoulder. She didn't know what was going on, but affection never hurt anything, especially where her sibling was concerned.

"What happened?"

Yang shifted beneath her, but did not speak immediately.

"After you got hurt," she began finally, hesitantly, "I was really angry. You didn't have to be out there. Pyrrha didn't have to break the rules."

"Yang, it wasn't…"

"No, wait. Let me finish, okay?" Yang leaned her head over to rest on Ruby's briefly. "I went to talk to her while you were in the hospital. And I _swear_ , Ruby, I meant to just talk it out with her, that's all."

"…You _meant_?"

Yang hung her head. "I made her fight me," she mumbled.

Ruby stiffened and whipped around to face her sister, face blazing with indignation. " _Yang_!"

"I know, I know, I shouldn't have. I was just…angry."

"That's not an excuse!"

"I _know,_ alright?"

"What happened?! Did you hurt her?"

Yang covered her face with her hands. "No," she admitted, sounding more grumpy than angry. "I got her once, good, but…I was almost unconscious by the time Weiss and Blake pulled her off of me."

Silver eyes widened, momentarily distracted by this news. "Wait, _what_? But you two always fight great in class…"

" _I. Know."_ Yang forced out though gritted teeth. "It surprised me too." She took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

Ruby rubbed Yang's leg comfortingly, her brow furrowed in thought. Yang getting into a brawl was pretty much normal, but Pyrrha? What was _that_ about? Self-defense was one thing, but needing Weiss and Blake to pull her off was bad. Like, really bad. Like, there-was-something-Yang-wasn't-telling-her bad.

"Why did Pyrrha fight you?" she asked.

There was no response.

Ruby twisted around to look at Yang, who again refused to meet her eyes. Her cheeks burned red with shame.

"I made her," Yang answered dully.

And _that_ wasn't the answer Ruby was looking for. She waited, narrowing her eyes to indicate her displeasure.

"Fine. I insulted Jaune, okay? I didn't mean it, but it got her to fight me."

The air left Ruby's lungs in a _whoosh_ of disbelief. That was…she didn't blame Pyrrha at all. She collapsed against the wall and stared off distractedly. Pyrrha would still be angry, then. Probably Ren and Nora, too. Her team would be fine, if a bit upset at Yang. And all because…

"She didn't even do anything wrong." Ruby pointed out. "Maybe she _meant_ to break the rules, but I was out there with her. She had a partner, even if she didn't know about it."

"She shouldn't have been out there in the first place!"

"I would have gone with her if she had asked, and I don't care that she didn't. It could have happened to anyone."

"That's... _aaggh_." Yang sprung out of the bed and stormed across the room. "That's the _point_ , Ruby! It could have been Blake, or Weiss, or Ren, or Nora," she turned to face Ruby, anguish etched clearly in the lines of her face, "and I _really_ don't think any of us can handle losing someone else."

Ruby slid off of the mattress at that, limping across the room to bury her face in Yang's shoulder. Small arms closed tightly around her sister's waist, squeezing tightly. Finally, the source of the problem.

"I'm okay, Yang. I promise." Her voice was muffled by the fabric of the leather jacket.

Yang returned the embrace fiercely, tears welling up in her eyes and spilling over to drip down on Ruby's head. "They thought you were going to _die_ , Ruby. _I_ thought you were going to die."

Ruby looked up at Yang, her expression serious. "I know, and I'm sorry, but…I'm going to get hurt again, Yang, and you can't hurt people when it happens. Especially not our friends."

"I know," Yang sniffed.

"Go talk to Pyrrha, okay? Really talk. Sort all this out."

"I will."

Ruby hugged Yang tightly once more, trying not to feel guilty. She suspected that telling off her older sister would always feel wrong, no matter how long she was team leader.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

Pyrrha lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. She was thinking.

At least, that's what she would say if anyone asked. In reality, she was brooding, running through a steady stream of self-recriminations and worry over and over again.

She knew, as surely as she knew anything, that she was good. How could she not? She had heard it since she was young, whispered by proud parents and coaches, shouted from the throats of thousands of fans, spewed across the headlines of every major news agency in the world.

Winning was what she did. With any weapon, in any arena, by any standard rulebook, she would win. The betting agencies long since stopped offering anything less than 2 to 1 odds on the prospect of her victory - lower odds were just a waste of money. She simply didn't lose.

She was, without a doubt, the best warrior in Mistral, and possibly anywhere. None of her peers were close to her level, and most fully-fledged Hunters couldn't even compete. Everyone knew her for her skill, and everyone who was anyone in the fighting world knew her for her discipline as well. In the arena, she never lost her cool. Her mind was always sharp, always analyzing. If there was a way to beat an opponent, she would work it out. She always did. Out of the arena, she never missed a training session, never deviated from her diet, and never gave the tabloids anything at all scandalous to talk about. Every coach in Remnant told their students to follow her example. She was the perfect role model.

Only now, she had made a mistake.

She shouldn't have hit Yang. Her frien- that girl - had deserved it for what she said, but Pyrrha herself had made the fight physical when it didn't need to be. Where was her vaunted self-control?

Apparently, it all flew out the window when someone insulted her crush. It was a pretty serious crush, granted, and he was her partner to boot, but that didn't excuse the violence.

Or maybe it did. She couldn't imagine a way out of that situation without some sort of violence. Yang had obviously wanted to fight, and Pyrrha had been happy to give one to her. If you could call what happened a fight.

Pyrrha rolled onto her side and sighed, curling up into herself. She just didn't know what to do.

The heart of the problem was that she didn't have so many friends that she could afford to lose them. She wasn't experienced in all the intricacies of a close friendship, but it didn't take a genius to know that her relationship with Yang was going to be strained, and that it might not ever recover.

She shouldn't have hit her.

Even worse was that she hadn't just _hit_ Yang; she had _thrashed_ her. In a contest the judges would have called the fight early, simply out of mercy. Yang would be all the more defensive because of that, and she could only hope that Blake and Weiss wouldn't be defensive on Yang's behalf. She wouldn't blame them if they were - Nora and Ren were furious with Yang, and it would only make sense if Blake and Weiss were angry in turn.

She sprang up from her bed and began to pace nervously. What if this was what finally split JNPR and RWBY? What if RWBY closed ranks around Yang, and Ren and Nora protected her in turn? What if they never got over it? Worse, what if they just pretended to get over it and eventually drifted apart when things never went back to normal?

All because she hit Yang. Really, she shouldn't have done it.

Unless, maybe, if she had waited for Yang to strike the first blow? Maybe that would have been better.

A knock at the door startled her from her thoughts.

"Hello?" she called, regarding the door with trepidation. _Please,_ she begged whatever gods might be listening, _not Yang. Anyone but her._ She didn't know what she would say if it was.

She didn't feel the relief she expected when Weiss stepped through the door. The heiress was, as usual, collected, proper, and utterly unreadable. A small part of her (she hoped it was a small part) roared in defiance. _Let her be angry,_ it said. _Let her come. Let her_ try _._ Pyrrha's gut sang with tension as her eyes darted over the woman's face, looking for any sign of disapproval or anger, but she could see nothing.

"How is Yang?"

The question burst from her mouth before she could stop it, leaving her with a sudden feeling of foolishness. Of all the ways to begin the conversation, of course she brought up the most awkward part first. Maybe it was for the best. Hopefully.

Weiss took a tentative step further into the room. "She's…fine. Physically, at least." She gestured back across the hallway towards her room. "Ruby is pretty upset at her, though."

 _Ruby!_ She was back, then. Oh, that was good to hear. She would have to go see her soon, whenever Yang wasn't around.

"When did she get back?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," Weiss replied evenly. "May we sit down? I want to talk to you about something."

"Oh, I'm sorry! Please." Her cheeks burned in sudden embarrassment. Of all the people she had to forget her manners around, it just _had_ to be Weiss. No one else would have cared (or even noticed, in some cases), but Weiss would probably think she was being rude intentionally. "Please, come in."

She led her friend away from the door and perched on the edge of her bed, her back ramrod-straight. Social niceties had never been her strong point, and Weiss' solid composure only made the contrast between the two girls all the more clear. She was more than familiar with the code that existed in the arena, but it was a rough and unwritten thing, born of metal, sweat, and hard-won respect. The dainty, scripted motions of the interactions that were second nature to Weiss felt awkward and unfamiliar to her.

The heiress glanced at the chair that sat by Pyrrha's desk, but came instead to sit next to her on the mattress, one hand rising to tuck an invisible strand of hair back into order. The women regarded each other for a moment in silence.

"I wanted to check on you," Weiss said at last, "and to apologize for Yang's appalling behavior."

Pyrrha shook her head immediately. "That wasn't your fault."

"No," Weiss agreed. "But I should have intervened sooner than I did."

"Would it have made a difference?"

A pale shoulder rose, then fell. "Perhaps."

"And perhaps not."

Another shrug, short and dismissive this time. "Whether it would have changed anything is academic. Regardless, I should have realized Yang's intentions and attempted to stop her." Piercing blue eyes swept up to her face. "You haven't said how you're doing."

Pyrrha hesitated. Weiss didn't appear to be angry with her: quite the opposite, in fact. More to the point, Pyrrha had yet to talk - _really_ talk - to anyone about Jaune's absence. As supportive as Ren and Nora had been, there was very little that actually needed to be said between them. They _knew_ already, knew from hours of bonding and interaction, from their own observations, and, more than anything else, from the loss of a man who was their own friend and leader. It was a situation they all understood without needing to speak, and while that was a wonderful thing, maybe talking about it would help.

"I _miss_ him," she admitted, and once she started the words came out in a rush, "more than I thought I could miss anyone. I know he wasn't the best fighter, and that he could be awkward, and I know that Yang thinks he didn't pull his weight, but he meant _so much_ to me." To her mortification, the room blurred behind a haze of tears. She blinked furiously to clear them.

"We wouldn't have become a team without him. He could love Nora for herself, but look past her enough to see Ren. He didn't _care_ that I'm famous. He was funny, and a good leader, and _hot_ , and he learned faster than anyone I've ever seen. He was my partner, and my best friend, and…oh, Weiss, I was so sure that he would be _more_. I _wanted_ him to be more."

The heiress laid a slim hand on her leg and leaned against her comfortingly.

"That's not how Yang sees it," Weiss mused. "Not really. She thinks…well, she thinks you two are kind of cute." Blue eyes flicked over Pyrrha's face. "Don't take that the wrong way. She just sees you both as…innocent. Like Ruby." A smile ghosted across her lips. "I think she sees the two of you the same way she would see Ruby dating. Cute, sweet, a first romance kind of thing, you know? She thinks it's refreshing, when she isn't trying to start fights - frankly, we all do."

"Jaune isn't the first guy I've been involved with, Weiss," she snapped, although the effect was ruined when she sniffled to keep her suddenly runny nose under control.

What did she mean, a 'first romance kind of thing'? What did they think she was, some whinging pre-teen in the throes of her first crush? She was _Pyrrha Nikos_. She could go into any bar in the kingdoms and walk out with someone. Not that she would, or that she even wanted to. The guy she wanted wasn't in a bar, and would probably feel incredibly awkward if he ever was.

"Oh," Weiss was taken aback. "The way you danced around Jaune…I thought…well. I was wrong, obviously. I apologize." Seeing the irritation in Pyrrha's face, she backed away on the mattress, eyes wary. "Please, Pyrrha, I didn't come here to start a fight of my own."

Pyrrha shook her head, instantly contrite. She didn't need to alienate another friend, and she was self-aware enough to realize that her anger came more from defensive embarrassment at her tears than from any actual affront.

She disagreed with Weiss about 'dancing around', though. She hadn't been blatantly forward, but she hadn't tried to hide her burgeoning attraction towards her partner, either. Then again, Jaune's idea of forward was the emotional equivalent of stamping an invitation to date on the side of an anvil and throwing it at him.

"I'm surprised you managed to keep it away from the tabloids," Weiss remarked, attempting to move the conversation away from her mistake.

She smiled at Weiss in silent apology and thanks. "I made that any dates I went on were discrete, and I was lucky. The rest weren't...well. They weren't really relationships, I suppose."

"Plenty of people have had failed relationships, Pyrrha," Weiss disagreed. "The fact that they were shorter than they could have been doesn't make them magically not count."

"I don't know," she said vaguely, shifting in discomfort. Weiss wasn't supposed to comment on that part - maybe bringing up her past relationships hadn't been a good idea. _Ask_ _about the dates_ , she begged silently. _Please, please, just let the other go._

"Well, I do," insisted Weiss. For once, she appeared to miss the conversational cue. "I've had shorter relationships as well, usually with suitors that my father found attractive and I didn't. They're still relationships, they're just…well, short."

Weiss wouldn't understand not with her proper upbringing and perfect, traditional moral code. Her dates probably included chaperones, or took place in exclusive, expensive clubs where the purpose was to be seen as much as it was to see. She and Weiss were so similar in some respects, so used to the struggle in eking out a private life underneath the constant gaze of celebrity, but in this...they simply couldn't be more different.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Weiss observed.

Why couldn't she just let it go? She probably thought she was helping, or something. Building up her friend's low self-esteem. There was no way out of it, either, short of ending the topic completely. She couldn't do that - after her near-disastrous snap at Weiss earlier, another break would derail any chance this conversation had at a decent ending.

"…It was sex, Weiss," Pyrrha mumbled at last. "Not an actual relationship." Her gaze was fixed firmly on her lap, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She couldn't bear to see the hard light of disapproval change Weiss' eyes. Hearing no reply, she continued in a dull voice.

"Everyone did it. During the tournaments, I mean. It was...expected."

There was still no answer from the heiress.

"I didn't, at first, but...oh, Weiss, I was _so tired_ of being alone. I just wanted to feel like someone wanted me," Pyrrha dragged a hand across damp eyes, not caring that it undoubtedly smeared her makeup. "Not because of championships, or fame, or anything else. Just _me."_ Her eyes welled up again as soon as her hand passed. "And he _didn't_. He just wanted..." She trailed off into miserable silence.

A gentle hand cupped her chin and raised it until green eyes met sky blue.

"What you have done is between you and the gods," Weiss said gently. " _You_ are still Pyrrha, and _you_ are still one of my first and only friends."

There was a moment where Pyrrha looked at her in disbelief, and then the tears, held back until now by sheer force of will, spilled over.

Pyrrha was vaguely aware that small arms settled around her and guided her head down to Weiss' lap. Tears streamed down her cheeks and dripped onto the skirt beneath her. Weiss said nothing, but lifted her hand and feathered delicate fingers through Pyrrha's hair as she cried.

She cried for the pain of her past, for the betrayal of her trust. She cried for Jaune and for lost possibilities, for her helplessness in the face the danger he faced. She cried because she didn't know what to do, or how her plans for the coming years would change. She cried because she was tired of worry, tired of pain, tired of uncertainty.

She cried because Weiss wasn't disgusted by her after all, and because maybe that meant that everything would be okay.

She did not know how long she cried, but she did know, and would always remember, that Weiss never once ceased to comb her hair.

But, as they always must, sobs gave way to tears, tears to sniffles, sniffles to hiccups, and hiccups, at long last, to silence.

"Thank you."

"Of course." Weiss smiled and rubbed Pyrrha's shoulder.

Pyrrha raised her hands and scrubbed them over her face. They came away much cleaner than she expected. She stared at them and tried to force her muddled brain to work. She had been wearing makeup. Then she cried. She had been resting on Weiss' dress. Her head whipped around to see that the white cloth now bore smudges of foundation and the unmistakable, spotted streaks of mascara.

" _Weiss_ -"

"Don't you _dare_ ," interrupted Weiss, holding a finger up in command. "It's just a skirt."

"A _nice_ skirt!"

"But a skirt, nevertheless," she chided. "And the stains will come out, anyway."

Pyrrha sighed, accepting that Weiss could easily afford bleach - and a new skirt, if it came to that - without batting an eye.

She lay back on her bed, arms splayed out over the mattress. It was amazing how much a good cry helped, sometimes. Her problems were still there, of course, as big and imposing as ever, but they felt…manageable. She had Weiss. She had Nora. She had Ren. If Weiss was right, she had Ruby and Blake. Things were going to be okay.

"If we're confessing things," Weiss said gently, "I should say that I didn't come here just to check on you."

She hummed a questioning sound, her eyes closed as she enjoyed the moment.

"Do you remember when Jaune called us?"

 _Snort_.

"Stupid question," Weiss conceded. "Did you notice the Schnee statue behind him?"

"No." She had only seen Jaune at the time. Unobservant, perhaps, but she felt she could be forgiven for it.

"Well, I did. He turned around when I asked about it, but it was there. I had to do some research to be sure I wasn't seeing things, but..." Weiss hesitated. "I think I know where he is."

Green eyes flew open.

" _Where_?"

* * *

One wouldn't normally associate the unexplored, untamed lands beyond human civilization with the feeling of boredom.

And yet, Jaune was bored. He was even bored while working _in an airship_ , which had to be some kind of record for him. Usually he was sick from the time he stepped aboard the aircraft until he stepped off, and while that was unpleasant, it was decidedly _not_ boring. Granted, the airship wasn't flying at the moment, but still.

With painstaking care, he picked up a small, locked case from the stack before him. It was an official-looking thing, molded from matte black polymer with the Schnee snowflake stamped boldly on the front. It fit perfectly into a slot in the large, aluminum rack before him. A pair of locking bars swung down in front of it and snapped into place, securing the case in a rack of shelves with several hundred other cases just like it. The rack itself extended from a bank of similar racks that took up the entire back half of the cargo hold in which he worked.

He turned and bent to grab another case, lifted it up, slid it into a slot just above the last, and locked it in place. The rack, now full, rolled back into a space in the bank just large enough to accommodate it. Jaune took two steps to the side and rolled out its empty neighbor, then went back to grab a case.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

It was a monotonous task, and not one he enjoyed. He didn't mind repetitive work - training was nothing if not repetition - but this wasn't training. It lacked the concentration of forms, the reaction and analysis of a spar, and unlike drills, it held no promise of improvement.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

He had noticed that the color of the Schnee emblem changed, indicating the type of dust inside the case. They were all blue at the moment. They had all been green before. Maybe they would all be green again. Who knew? Just as unimportantly, who cared?

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Some Schnee executive, probably, stuffed into a suit with briefcase in hand, boasting about the yield for the quarter to some board or other. (Was yield even a thing? It sounded business-y enough to be a thing). Or maybe some pencil-pusher farther down the corporate ladder who spent the day locked in a tiny cubicle crunching numbers.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Although, maybe the pencil-pusher loved the numbers. Maybe it made the pencil-pusher happy when the little columns added up to a big, pretty, final number.

Who knew? Not him.

Who cared? Also not him.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

Weiss probably cared, at some level anyway. Maybe _she_ should come and help him load cases into this stupid airship if it mattered to her so much. (The thought of Weiss doing manual labor in an airship hold made him snort). Or maybe she didn't care, as long as it kept her father happy.

Who knew? _He_ didn't.

Bend. Grab. Lift. Slide. Lock.

The work wouldn't even be so bad if he had been expecting it. Instead he got to deal with boring work _and_ the disappointment of not getting to train. Seriously, was knowing his schedule too much to a-

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. He jumped and gave a yelp of surprise, which drew a hearty laugh from the large man behind him.

"Don' start like tha' around a Grimm," the man chortled. "Jump righ' to your own grave, tha' way."

Jaune squashed his embarrassment, reminding himself that the miners would ignore him if they didn't like him. They were a tight group, but shy to outsiders.

"Yeah, I know," he said as he rubbed the back of his head ruefully. "I got lost in the work."

"It happens," the man shrugged. "Ye'll learn tae stay focused. But back tae the mine wi' ye, Branwen needs help. I'll take care o' this."

Jaune thanked him quickly and ducked out of the hold into the warm summer air. He snatched up Crocea Mors from where it leaned against the hull of the airship and clipped it to his belt. The hilt was warm where the sun had shone on it. The heat felt good, but he tried not to notice too much. One of the greatest drawbacks of working underground was that the weather never changed - it was always chilly and sunless in the mines. That could be wonderful when it was raining outside, but it did get old after a while.

A hard hat, backup flashlight, a pair of rubber boots, and he was back underground. Familiar walls passed by as he jogged down the corridor to the first and largest chamber, which he privately dubbed "the office". There were no crystals or mining activity there, beyond the carts that passed through on the way to the surface and the group of tables that served as the command center.

As usual, there was a knot of people clustered around them, their voices reverberating around the room and blending into an incomprehensible mix of noise. Jaune jogged over to them.

Qrow was in the center of the huddle, gesturing and talking rapidly to Jasper. The big foreman stood next to him with his arms crossed, interrupting occasionally, but apparently receptive to what he was saying. They appeared to reach some sort of conclusion as he approached, with groups of people hurrying away to disappear down various tunnels.

Qrow looked up when Jaune stopped by the tables. The portable floodlight by him threw his shadow along the floor to the far wall, where it merged with the dark that spread beyond the range of the lamp.

"Hey, kid. Got your gear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Don't call me sir."

He went back to browsing the map laid out before him. It was in poor condition - tattered, stained by muddy hands and the scribbling of pens and pencils, but still readable. The lines on it followed the layout of the mine, as seen from above. Other, half-open maps lay around it, discarded for the moment.

Jaune cleared his throat. "Um...you wanted me, right?"

"Yeah," Qrow said absently. He stared at the diagram for another second before shaking his head and rolling it into a messy cylinder.

"Do you feel good? Muscles warm?"

"Uh," Jaune hopped up and down and waved his arms, feeling his body move and stretch. The work outside, although boring, had his muscles loose and limber. "Yeah, I feel fine."

"Good. Come here and take a look at this." The Hunter shuffled through the papers and spread out a map that was, if anything, in even worse condition than the previous one.

"You see this wall?" He pointed to one of the longer lines roughed onto the parchment. "It's the back of area eight. You've been there."

Jaune squinted at it and tried to remember if he had been in that area of the mine before. It didn't look familiar, not that it meant much - he was lost at least half the time he was here, anyway. If Qrow said he was there, he probably was.

"Maybe?"

"You'll remember it when you see it. Survey team thinks that there's another room behind it, so they're going to crack it open." Qrow shoved the map aside and turned to Jaune. "That's where we come in. We're still close to the surface, so that room might open somewhere above ground."

"So…there might be Grimm?" Jaune guessed. Or other things, he supposed. What else lived in caves?

"Exactly. These guys are going to blow a hole in the wall, and if something comes out then we stop it."

He swallowed and nodded. The memory of the terror and _wrongness_ he felt at his last encounter with the Grimm prodded at him, and images of him running through the cave as _something_ gave chase flashed before him. He pushed them aside with a swift shake of his head. He would do better, now that he knew what to expect. Qrow was with him, just like last time, and so were the miners.

"When are we doing it?" he asked quietly.

"Jasper just went to make the final preparations. If you want to do anything first, now's the time."

Jaune shook his head in the negative and stared off across the chamber. At least the lack of training today now made sense. His questions about the lack of a schedule, however, were still very much unanswered. This seemed like something he should have known before now.

"Did you know this was going to happen?"

"What, do you think they decided to open a new mineshaft because they felt like it this morning? Of course I knew."

"You could have told me," he said.

"Right. Because Hunters usually have schedules," Qrow said mildly. "You have to get used to the unexpected eventually. Might as well start now."

Jaune grunted his annoyance, but acquiesced.

"Fine. Let's just get this over with."

"One thing first." Qrow leaned back against the table, looking for all the world like a man at home rather than a man about to fight humanity's worst enemy. "When you're fighting, I want to to try to suppress your emotions."

Jaune's lips thinned in irritation, but because Qrow raised a hand in caution he said nothing.

"I know you don't like it. I know it goes against everything they taught you at Beacon. You're supposed to allow yourself to fear to help distract Grimm from the civilians, but think about it for a minute. _There are no civilians here_."

Jaune raised his eyebrows in disbelief. Everyone here wasn't a hunter. With only four schools, there just weren't enough of them to populate a town. Not that anyone would want to try; the schools were crazy enough. A whole settlement of Hunters would be insane.

"Everyone here isn't a hunter," he said flatly.

"No," Qrow agreed, "They're not, but do you really think that anyone comes to live outside the kingdoms without knowing that they will have to fight for their lives?"

They...well, he guessed they didn't. Beyond the protection of the cannon batteries and border defense forces that circled the border of every kingdom, fighting would have to be a part of life. Citizens of small communities would have to pick up the defensive duties that the kingdoms delegated to their armies.

Seeing his hesitation, Qrow pushed on. "Every man and woman here has fought the Grimm before, and every one of them will fight the Grimm again. There's no drawback to holding back your emotions. No one will get hurt because of it. Just try it this time and see what happens."

Jaune sighed. It seemed like a bad idea, but Qrow was right. With no civilians (or no defenseless ones, anyway) to worry about, there wasn't any downside to trying his idea out.

"Fine."

"Great." Qrow stood briskly and picked up his scythe from where it rested next to him. "I'm not expecting you to be able to do it yet - not well anyway - but do your best. Watch me if you get a chance; you might learn something."

Frankly, he wasn't planning on watching _anything_ besides Grimm or thinking about _anything_ besides how to not die. Add trying to control his emotions around that...aura, or whatever Qrow had called it, and his plate sounded pretty full.

He figured Qrow didn't need to know that, though. It might make him sound like a bad student.

They walked quickly to the back of the room, to one of the many tunnels that led away from this central hub. A large "8" was painted in a garish, industrial yellow next to to the exit.

The tunnel ran through a series of switchbacks, working upwards at a slight angle. The tunnel was a square, unremarkable passage that bore the curved striations of the diamond-tipped cutters used to excavate it. As far as Jaune could tell, they were going up inside the mountain, probably to a cavern that lay just beneath the surface of the mountainside.

"Remember the aura," Qrow growled softly. His shoes made a sharp _tap_ against the stone as they walked, in hard counterpoint to the soft tread of Jaune's sneakers. "Remember what it felt like. Expect it."

Jaune listened and nodded in acknowledgement, although he thought the advice was completely unnecessary. How could he forget fear like that? He unclipped Crocea Mors from his belt and drew it, popping the wings of his shield out into position. THe blade gleamed in light of their headlamps, the only source of illumination in this passage.

Before long, the glimmer of light ahead announced their arrival at the eighth cavern.

There were people everywhere.

A group of miners stood back against the walls, armed with an eclectic assortment of weaponry. A second group of people argued among themselves and made adjustments to what appeared to be a collection of explosives. Two massive bulldozers rumbled around, pushing rubble into two discrete piles against the far wall. Between those piles, the Dust scientist - Aria? - stood in a high-visibility vest, taking measurements with a tape and marking them on the rock with bright orange spray paint. Still others seemed to have no job at all, content to stand around and observe the work.

Jasper stood in the midst of it all, yelling instructions and scribbling on a notepad. A massive sledgehammer rested beside him with the haft leaning against his leg. One of the men called out and pointed at them when they entered, and he looked around with a smile.

"That was fast," he commented. "Not that I'm complaining. We're almost done here."

Qrow looked around the room with a raised eyebrow. "Doesn't look like it."

"As soon as Aria finishes her calculations, the explosives team will set the charges on her marks." Jasper explained. "We all take cover, and _boom_. There's a new hole in that wall."

"What about the rock?"

"If things get too hairy, just give a yell. The operators will push those piles into the breach to seal it." Jasper paused. "Just, for the love of all that's good in the world, make sure you get out first. That's at least an standard ton of rubble. Maybe a ton and a half."

Qrow scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. "Of course. There's a bottle back in town that I want to get to know better. Can't do that if I'm buried before my time."

"A _bottle_ or a _girl_?" Jasper teased. "Don't say you haven't noticed the cleaning woman at that inn."

"What, like you've noticed that scientist of yours?" retorted Qrow. "Those looks you were shooting her weren't exactly innocent."

Jasper held up both hands in protest. "Hey, Aria's single, but I'm not makin' any moves on her."

A sly grin crossed the Huntsman's face. "Really? So you don't mind if I ask her out?"

"No," insisted Jasper stubbornly. "No, I don't have a problem with that."

"Right." Qrow raised a challenging eyebrow, smirked, and stepped past Jasper. His had rose to smooth back his hair. "Wish me -"

"Okay, okay!" The miner grabbed his shoulder and hauled him back. "Maybe a bit, all right? Damn, man, I didn't think you were actually gonna do it."

"I wasn't," he said smoothly. "Just wanted to clear things up."

Jasper shook his head and looked around quickly, obviously relieved that no one heard the conversation. "Just don't go spreading it around, all right? She should find out from me, not through the grapevine."

Qrow gave him a wide-eyed look and pointed to himself. "Who, me?" He chuckled and slapped Jasper on the shoulder. "Go get her. No PDA in the mine, though. I don't want to walk in on something I shouldn't."

Jasper gave a booming laugh and swung his sledge up to his shoulder. "One of these days, Branwen, I might just do that. MILLER!"

Jaune jumped in alarm at the unexpected shout.

"Yes, boss?" A small, skinny man hurried up to their group, rubbing his hands together anxiously.

"How's progress?"

"She's ready to blow when you give the say-so." He gave a reedy laugh. "Call me a poet with the rhymes, boss."

"Just don't quit this job to pursue that dream, okay?" Jasper looked around one last time. "Okay. Get everyone out. Time to roll."

Miller gave a signal. The wail of a siren rose to split the close air of the cavern. It echoed through the space, high tones mixing with low and bouncing from the walls, loud enough to shake Jaune's teeth.

The miners responded instantly and universally. All joking was immediately put aside as everyone hurried from the room to crowd into the tunnel around the nearest switchback. Jaune and Qrow were pushed to the front along with the two miners who were to operate the bulldozers. Behind them crouched those who had weapons of their own. Everyone else clustered in the far back.

The siren continued to scream for a full minute after everyone had left. Part of Jaune's mind realized that it was probably for safety or something, but this fact was tucked away for later along with other, extraneous thoughts. His world now consisted of his sword, his shield, Qrow, and a sharp awareness of his immediate physical surroundings.

Qrow bumped his shoulder and motioned for him to cover his ears. Jaune immediately crouched down, dropped his sword, and shoved his fingers into his ears. A few seconds passed.

 ** _CRACK_**

The explosion shook the ground beneath him and the shockwave ruffled his hair. Instantly, he grabbed Crocea Mors and stood, listening to the pitter-pat of debris bouncing along the floor of the cavern.

Qrow held out a hand and lifted three fingers, then began to lower them.

Three.

Two.

One.

They sprinted around the corner into the main chamber with the two operators hot on their heels, Qrow's scythe deploying with a metallic whir as they ran.

The chamber was empty, but a jagged hole gaped in the far wall. No light was visible beyond it. Jaune and Qrow came to a stop just before the rubble piles, weapons up and ready. One operator hauled himself up into the cabin of the bulldozer. The engine rumbled to life a second later.

The other operator seized a small bag that lay on the tracks of the second machine and tossed it to Jaune before climbing up and starting her own engine. Caught off guard, he caught it instinctively and looked inside. Thick, silver rods? He held it out to Qrow, assuming that he would know what to do with it.

Qrow grunted and leaned his scythe against the rubble, but kept a wary eye on the opening. Jaune gripped the hilt of Crocea Mors tightly. If something came through, it was on him to stop it now. Qrow pulled one of the rods from the bag and fiddled with it, causing the tip to burst into sputtering, white-blue light.

The flare sailed through the opening a second later, falling out of sight to the floor of the new cave. It was immediately extinguished with a _hiss_ , but it brought no reaction; no howls, no roars, no screeches of Grimm who had found prey.

Qrow drew a second flare from the bag and sent it spinning after the first. They heard it skitter along the floor and roll to a halt. The light held, but again there was no response.

"Follow me," Qrow ordered, shifting his scythe back into a sword. "Be careful."

They approached the opening warily, ready for any hint of an attack. The floor beyond the breach was several feet below the hole. Qrow dropped down first, and Jaune followed.

The ground sloped down at an angle to form a natural bowl of sorts. Great pillars of stone rose at intervals, along with stalagmites and stalactites that would, one day, form pillars of their own. The floor of the cave was damp and muddy, but not impassable, although there was a shallow pool of water at the very bottom. A few, scattered leaves hinted at an opening to the outside, somewhere. This cavern could fill with water when it rained, if that opening was in the right spot.

Qrow pointed them out to Jaune. "Careful."

Jaune stared at the darkness around him, looking for the glint of a red eye or the sheen of white bone. If leaves meant that there were existing openings, then openings meant the possibility of Grimm. The the flare illuminated much of the room, but the edges were far, far darker than he liked.

Qrow began to light flares and toss them systematically out into the darkness while Jaune stood at his back. The guttering light sent the shadows into a crazed dance, suggesting at forms that disappeared as soon as he saw them. He kept his shield up, as much an emotional barrier between himself and the dark as a practical defense against unseen attackers.

More flares lit the room until they stood in a circle of light, the entire cave visible. It was empty of Grimm, and, as far as Jaune could see, it was empty of dust as well.

"That..." he said at last, "was the most anticlimactic thing I've done all week."

Qrow shrugged and slung his sword from his back. "It happens. Everything can't always be exciting."

"Oh, I'm not complaining," Jaune said feelingly. "It's just...you know."

Qrow walked over to the pool in the center of the room and bent over to fish out a blackened cylinder. It was the remains of the first flare, Jaune saw. "This is nice," he said approvingly. "Good quality stuff."

Jaune didn't know what to say to that, so he contented himself with looking around. Dust or no dust, the room was beautiful. The rock formations flowed into themselves with flawless grace. Veins of minerals wound through the rock, adding variation to the dull tan of the sandstone around them. Drops of water that hung from the ceiling caught at the light from the flares and their headlamps, gleaming like stars on the ceiling.

He began to circle a particularly large column, taking in the subtle variations in detail. It was shaped like an hourglass, with white lines (some kind of mineral, Jaune guessed) snaking along it, joined in lesser quantity by multicolored veins of stone. Some small crystals - not Dust crystals, but crystals nonetheless - crusted the top, refracting the light into multicolored prisms that danced along the textured surface of the mineral deposits. It was, quite simply, majestic. The bottom joined the floor in great swells, almost like the knots that form on tree trunks. These, too, were colored, some blue-green, some white, and some black.

...Some black?

He gave a shout of alarm, stumbling back and ripping Crocea Mors from his waist. Qrow heard and sprang towards him, scythe springing out to the ready.

At the noise, the black lump _moved_. It was not, as Jaune had first thought, an interesting stone formation. The Deathstalker that scurried across the floor, away from them and into the cover of a grouping of stalagmites.

Upon seeing it, Qrow lowered his guard slightly. "Did you see how small it was?" he asked, eyes darting around the room.

"Yeah."

"It's a juvenile. _Very_ juvenile; I don't think I've ever seen one this young."

Jaune took a deep, shuddering breath. He could deal with young. Fortunately, Grimm didn't have parents, so there was no need to worry about that. No one understood exactly how the process worked, but they didn't seem to need them. Deathstalkers, in particular, tended to live solitary lives without packs, nests, or mates.

"Why is it running?" In his experience, Grimm usually charged straight at you.

"It's just being careful; we outnumber it. Look, we can talk about it later, okay? Right now, you need to kill it."

" _I_ need to kill it?" Jaune asked quickly. "What about you?"

"I'll be here if you need me, but like I said, it's a juvenile. You should be able to handle it." Qrow smirked. "Just watch out for the tail."

Jaune adjusted his shield nervously and began his circle towards the Deathstalker's cover. Avoiding the tail was far easier said than done. The blindingly fast strikes made blocking difficult and dodging even more so. Any of his friends would have used a ranged option to disable the tail before closing in. Unfortunately for him, he didn't have one of those.

His sneakers squelched and sucked at the mud coating the cave floor, rendering any kind of quiet approach impossible. There was no doubt that the Deathstalker knew exactly where he was, even though Jaune himself had only a vague clue where the creature hid.

As he approached the stalagmites, he felt a flutter of that _wrongness_ from before. His steps hitched, a sharp breath hissing through his teeth in anticipation, but the full brunt of the fear never came. It was still _there,_ making the world twist (or maybe it was the fabric _under_ the world that twisted), but it was subtle, like a constant, discordant hum that writhed on the threshold of his hearing.

His headlamp stabbed though the flickering shadows, pushing them back to the edges of his vision. He could see the Grimm. It was molded into an impossibly small divot behind some of the larger rock formations, not ten lengths distant. It didn't seem to realize that he could see it, half in shadow as it was. It waited with unnatural stillness for him to approach.

The problem was that he didn't _want_ to approach. The stalagmites that provided it cover from sight would also prevent him from swinging his sword freely. Limiting himself to stabbing attacks was stupid - if the creature's carapace was hard, Crocea Mors could deflect onto the floor. The blade would dull at best, and chip at worst.

Awkwardly transferring the sword to his left hand, he looked around and grabbed up a chunk of rock. It was heavy, smooth, dulled by years of water flow. He hefted it for a moment, evaluating its weight, then drew back his arm and threw it at the Deathstalker.

The makeshift projectile fell short, smacking into the mud. His face flushed with embarrassment. He probably looked like an idiot right now, throwing rocks at a Grimm while holding a perfectly functional sword. He wasn't going to stop - it was a good plan - but he was painfully aware of the appearance.

His second throw was far better. The chunk hit the creature, albeit a glancing blow that did little to no damage. The Deathstalker screeched in rage at the attack.

Jaune scarcely had time to ready his sword before it was upon him. He leapt back to avoid a grasping pincer. For all that this was a juvenile, the claws were easily larger than his feet. The tail was curled back and low to the ground. It would try to grab him first, then hold him still while the venom was injected.

It scuttled forwards, tail bobbing wickedly, eagerly. Jaune led it away from the shadows, out towards the center of the room. Qrow was no longer there, but Jaune didn't have the time to look for him. Hopefully, he would be ready to help if it came to that.

A pincer jabbed, and Jaune swung his sword to counter it. The blade bit into the exoskeleton, but not deeply enough to penetrate. He pulled the sword away in surprise and stumbled back. It was still soft, not like the impenetrable armor of its larger cousins. It was an opportunity, but also a danger; if his sword became trapped in its body, the creature would strike.

He dodged around a pillar to buy time, thinking rapidly. If the exoskeleton was soft, perhaps this could be easier than he expected. It took a surprising amount of firepower to remove a Deathstalker's tail, but if it was as soft as the pincers then he _should_ be able to cut it off.

The only problem was getting close enough.

He feinted close, jabbing at the thing's eyes, but was rebuffed with a screech and threatening jab of its tail.

He backpedaled in alarm, reminding himself that just because it might _like_ to hold him still with its pincers while it stabbed him didn't mean that it _had_ to.

 _Squelch_.

His foot sunk into the mud beneath him. A hole in the cave floor, hidden beneath the sucking mud. He gasped in pain as his ankle twisted, trapped in the thick, clayish goo.

He stumbled and hopped, straining at his shoe. It refused to move. Sensing its chance, the Deathstalker scurried towards him.

With a great wrench his foot popped loose, leaving his shoe behind. Jaune jumped to the side in time to avoid a dizzyingly fast strike from the tail.

Crocea Mors flashed, the creature screamed, and the tip of the stinger fell to the ground.

Jaune whooped in triumph and closed, holding his sword up to drive it down through the thing's body.

The tail flashed and slammed into Jaune's shoulder, knocking him back and leaving a bloody print behind. The deathstalker pressed forwards, undeterred by the lack of a lethal tail.

With a grunt, Jaune jumped over it, turning in time to bring his blade down in a flashing arc that cleaved through bone and soft, half-formed armor. The death screeches of the Grimm echoed through the cave, as he struck time and again, and yet it still struggled. Thin, pointed legs scrabble for purchase as the tail whipped back and forwards in a frenzy of hate. Several strikes found Jaune and left his chestplate smeared with blood from the thing's stump.

Recovering, he grabbed Crocea Mors and ran back, up the rise to the entrance where Qrow stood. Sword still ready, he stood and watched it struggle to move. The carapace was cracked open, legs splayed at crazed angles. It was obviously finished.

The screams quickly gave way to twitches, and no sooner had the twitches ceased than it started to dissolve. Dark tendrils rose from the corpse, obscuring the air around it. Jaune turned away. It was small, so it would take longer to dissipate. Larger Grimm went more quickly. Small bodies could linger, even up to five or six minutes.

Qrow's weapon whirred as it collapsed, folding until it fit snugly behind the Huntsman.

"Nice," he said approvingly. "I thought I might have to step in for a moment, but you handled it well."

A warm glow suffused Jaune at those words. "I thought you would, too," he admitted.

"Ah," Qrow reached out and ruffled Jaune's hair. "I didn't, though. It's a good start. We'll have you fighting like a proper Huntsman in no time."

Jaune ducked his head away, embarrassed but pleased.

Qrow reached out his arms and stretched, looking vastly pleased. "Well, I think that's good for a day's work. Let's go find Jasper and get outta here. I wasn't kidding about getting acquainted with that bottle." He looked at Jaune in consideration. "You can have some too, if you like. Probably shouldn't drink it all myself, anyway."

"I, uh...I don't really have much experience with whiskey," Jaune confessed. "Beacon's pretty strict about drinking during the week, and I'm not really the party type."

"And beer's cheaper, and you're a broke student, and yadda yadda," Qrow interrupted. "I know. I was there too, remember? Don't worry about it." He shot his student a grin, eyes glinting.

"Besides, ya gotta start somewhere."

* * *

 **Hi, guys and gals!**

 **Yay for Jaune and Qrow bonding!**

 **This chapter had more of me trying to flesh out Pyrrha as a character. She's still in her "Patroclus funk", if you want to draw the parallel back to Achilles, and that gave a bit of an opportunity to look into her past and her view of herself. This ended up being more controversial than I had expected - reviews are calling it everything from a fresh, logical way to approach the character to an story-ending travesty.  
**

 **To start out, I don't think that the completely innocent, hesitant, naive Pyrrha that we see so often in fan-fiction relationships (both romantic and otherwise) is particularly realistic.** ** **She's a world-famous champion, a young adult, and a celebrity; there's absolutely no way that she doesn't know what a crush is, and it's highly unlikely that she has no social experience. W**** ** ** **riting Jaune as some first crush or having her dither around over some mystical feelings that she's never had before and doesn't know what to do with just seems farcical.** Think of people you have seen in your own life who are highly successful at popular activities, whether it be sports or whatever else. Provided that they aren't just incredibly strange, everyone wants to meet them or talk to them, particularly those who participate in the same activities. Celebrity attracts social attention and opportunities. With that in mind, writing Pyrrha as having no significant social experience seems unrealistic. Canon, possibly, but unrealistic. Much more likely is that she has been burned - and badly - by social interaction in her past, causing her current, highly cautious approach to social life. Also note that she isn't awkward in general social interactions. She can hold a conversation perfectly well, which doesn't support the idea of a sheltered, isolated life.  
****

 **She is, of course, cautious with Jaune, and understandably so. Jaune is her best friend and partner - anyone is going to be cautious when ruining such an important relationship is a real possibility, regardless of how well-adjusted you are or how much dating experience you have. You never "grow out" of the fear that comes when losing the most important relationships in your life is on the table. She does initiate all the major moves towards a romantic relationship with Jaune during seasons 2 and 3, so it doesn't appear that she's too paralyzed by fear to make a move, but she is nervous, she is embarrassed by the immanent prospect of failure and her own emotional vulnerability, and she does move with quite a bit of caution.**

 **In response to a few reviews, I want to be VERY clear: Pyrrha is not a 'slut', nor was she simply sleeping around. In real life, people who are dealing with serious emotional pain (loneliness, in Pyrrha's case, but we also see it with things like PTSD, rape, and physical abuse) will sometimes turn to sex for a temporary emotional high and a feeling of connection. This doesn't have anything to do with how they act normally, and certainly nothing to do with their value as a person. It's a coping mechanism to deal with emotional pain. In Pyrrha's case, while she had no close friends, a one-night stand pre-Beacon seems a realistic possibility, assuming that she is the one to step off her pedestal and make a move. I think that she would regret it afterwards, but the idea that she would try doesn't seem far-fetched.  
**

 **By way of disclaimer; a reviewer pointed out to me that canonical Pyrrha is 17. I'm not sure if that information is accurate, but just to cover my bases I'm going to put her age at 18 for this story - Beacon has always seemed analogous to a college to me, given that you have to apply, have a diploma from a lower tier school, and are able enter a specialized career once you get out. 18 is the average age for incoming freshmen, most of whom had their birthday during their senior year of high school. The idea here was that Pyrrha ended up giving into peer pressure during her last, successful attempt at the Mistral tournament, which would have to take place during the summer to free up students from class. It went badly, and she comes to Beacon with a great deal of social baggage and emotional withdrawal. I'd be happy to elaborate more in a PM, if anyone wants. I'd be just as happy to sit and listen to your arguments if you feel that I made a bad decision in writing her, but please don't send raging, hate-filled PMs that are empty of all substance. It doesn't help me become a better writer, and it doesn't help you (because many of you are amateur writers too!) build structured critiques of a story.  
**

 **On another note, I've gone back and edited the previous chapters. I was in a pretty dark frame of mind when I began this, but one year on I'm finding the angst to be a bit too thick. It's still there, but it fits the story better and (I hope) comes across as less ridiculous. I cleaned up the writing a bit, removed some of the more common character tropes that were just lazy writing, and added some details here and there to clear up things that will happen later.  
**

 **Much love to you all,**

 **Anthologion**


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